A Tale of Two Twins
by The Yankee Countess
Summary: What if Tom Branson had a twin brother? What if Sybil Crawley had a twin sister? What if something had happened when they were babies, separating them from their identical siblings...only to be reunited NOW, over twenty years later? Mistaken identities, siblings swapping places, and a romantic comedy of errors await!
1. Chapter 1

_So here is another story! And one where at the end of the day, I have no one but myself to blame for its inception. A joke was made on tumblr about Sybil having an identical twin sister. I then took it to a whole other level, about why stopping there? Why not have twin Branson brothers as well! It escalated quickly ;o) Soon, a good portion of the fandom began twisting my arms, saying they wanted to see this come to life...and I can't deny, I did too! Soon a plot began to form, and so here I am, indulging my kooky imagination, as well as perhaps all of yours by giving you not one, but TWO Branson brothers, for TWO Sybil look-a-likes. BUT WAIT, it gets better! Like any good soap opera plot, there will be mistaken identity, people switching places, baby-stealing housemaids, and much, much more! This first chapter is much more of a "prologue/introduction" to how certain events came to be. More will be explained as the story progresses, but for right now, I do hope you enjoy this little journey into what I hope will be a fun, crack-tastically glorious romp through Sybil/Tom romantic-comedy fanfic._

_I'm dedicating this story to ALL OF YOU (you know who you are) that helped twist my arm to do this! Whether you begged me once or multiple times, YOU are the reason this story is happening and just remaining a crazy crackfic idea. I hope you're proud of yourselves ;o) Please share your thoughts, I'd love to hear them! Thank you again for reading!_

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**A Tale of Two Twins  
**_**by The Yankee Countess**_

_Chapter One_

_Ireland, 1890_

Droplets fell atop the screaming child's face. She wasn't sure if they were caused by the rain that leaked through the crumbling roof overhead…or her own tears as she leaned over the tiny cot, trying her best to shield her babies from the storm that raged outside and threatened to take the roof off the very cottage which she and her seven children resided.

This wasn't the life she wanted for her sons, for any of her children. But it was the life she was left with. A life full of drudgery and pain, made even harsher now with the loss of her dear Aedan.

The telegram still remained in the cottage, crumpled and stained with tears, but she hadn't the heart yet to get rid of it; it felt as if it were all she had left of her husband.

_We regret to inform you __**[stop]**__ the death of Aedan Branson __**[stop]**__ having died of typhoid fever __**[stop]**__ his remaining wages shall be sent directly __**[stop]**__ in deepest sympathy._

That was a joke, both the wishes of sympathy and the promise of his remaining wages. Her husband had gone to Dublin with hopes to find better work. The farm was suffering and the Dunn-Sainny's were not the most understanding of masters. So to Dublin he went, hoping to perhaps find something in shipping or dock work, as a younger brother of his had found success in such work. She was eight months pregnant at the time he left; she hated seeing him go, but knew they had no choice. They needed the money.

It all made sense now, when he wrote to her, telling her not to visit him, not to send any of the children to him. He hadn't gone into details, simply told her he was ill and didn't want to any of them to get sick, especially with a newborn coming into the world.

Her poor, poor Aedan. He never saw his sons. He never even knew she had had twins. He died before her letter reached him.

Her eldest, Kieran, wasn't even thirteen. He had left school so he could start work as a hall boy of all things for the Dunn-Sainny's, and her second child, a daughter named Kathleen who was a year younger than Kieran, was also looking into training to become a kitchen maid for the same family. Was this the life her children were going to be cursed with? Forced out of school the second they had reached twelve, to begin service? It wasn't that service was a horrible profession, in truth she herself had worked for many years as a housemaid for the Dunn-Sainny family. It was the prospect of forever being trapped to that family, and that place. Both she and her husband never wanted this sort of life for their children. They thought they would learn to work the land, to take pride in the land and perhaps one day, when Ireland won her freedom, they could call the land their own.

But that was not to be.

"Mam?"

Margaret Branson took a deep breath and tried in vain to wipe her cheeks clean from any signs of tears before turning to face her youngest daughter. "What is it, Moira?"

Her youngest girl made a face, while rubbing her stomach. "My tummy hurts."

It took everything she had not to burst out sobbing. Of course her tummy hurt; she was hungry. They all were. Her poor little brown-haired beauty was pale and gaunt, her cheeks hollow and large, dark circles around her eyes. They had a meager feast of stale bread and potatoes, with a bit of an old, chopped carrot. Despite the younger children's complaints and longing for something more (and tastier) both Kathleen and Kieran shushed them and told them to eat, to be thankful for what they had, and proceeded to give them looks of warning if they so much as whimpered. Her poor, poor children; they hadn't had meat in over a week. They were starving…

"Hush, leave Mam be!" Kathleen hissed, coming to retrieve the youngest Branson girl and guide her back to bed where the other children lay snuggled for warmth while the storm continued to rage outside. They couldn't live like this; this wasn't living, this wasn't even surviving. They would die here, if she didn't do something soon.

Margaret Branson had only one surviving family member; a brother who was away at sea and who she hadn't heard from in over a year. Her husband's relatives were not the sort to provide help. Indeed, the younger brother to whom Aedan had gone in hopes of finding work was a greedy bastard, always "borrowing" money and never paying his debts. He drank and gambled and often got into trouble. It was him who sent the telegram, and she had no doubt that he would keep her husband's final wages. Other than this brother, Aedan had an older sister, but she and her family kept to themselves. Aedan never told her, but Margaret knew that sometime in the past, the two had had a falling out. They didn't even exchange letters. No, her in-laws would be of no help. She was completely on her own.

She looked down at her newborn sons, both of whom were a mirror copy of the other in looks, and temperament, it seemed. She was trying in vain to keep them calm, to quiet them so her other children could sleep, but it seemed to be of no use. _I can't do anything right_, she found herself thinking in a moment of despair. _I can't provide for my family, I can't give them a decent meal, a decent place to sleep, I'm all alone in this world and the only prospect for survival it seems is to…is to…_

She hated the thought, but it was one that she knew many widows in her place had been forced to make_. _

_ Send the children away…_

She would soon be losing Kieran and Kathleen to the Drumgoole Castle and the Dunn-Sainny's; the others were too young to go into service, but…but perhaps she could write to Aedan's brother, find out if he knew the whereabouts of their sister, write to her, plead with her, beg her to take the younger ones until things were better…but _would_ they ever be?

And what would she do if she couldn't find Aedan's sister? Who would take her children then? Who would be able to provide them with a good home and a well-cooked meal? All of their neighbors were in similar situations to her, and all of them had mouths to feed; they wouldn't appreciate her adding to their burdens with her own brood.

…Unless…

_No, no, I can't do _that, she quickly chastised herself for even thinking the idea. Yet as she looked down at the screaming faces of her two boys…her two dear little boys…who had committed no wrongs and had done no evil, and yet who were suffering in this cold, damp cottage, starving and shivering alongside their older siblings…

Isn't it better to give them the life I never could?

She had heard stories where women in her situation had more or less "given their children away", to wealthier childless couples, telling themselves over and over that it was for the best, that their son or daughter would never want for anything, that all the golden opportunities that had been denied them, because of class they were born into, would not hold back their children.

She supposed it helped ease the loss, a little. But these couples were complete strangers! Who was to say that they would truly raise and take care of a child that wasn't naturally their own? What was to keep those couples from turning that child into a…into some sort of slave? She shuddered at the thought, and felt the urge to pick up her two sons and hold them tight.

_Even_ if she considered doing that—giving her sons away so that they would never suffer…she would need to know; somehow she would need to be reassured that not only would they be looked after and provided for…but that they may also be loved.

_Although how can anyone love them the way I do? They may doubt my love if they ever learn the truth, but I would hope and pray that it would be explained one day that I did this _because_ of love; sacrificing my own happiness for the sake of theirs…_

She shook her head. Was she truly contemplating this? Giving up her sons? Her newborn sons!? The last connection she had to her dear Aedan?

…Even if she were, WHO would she give them to? She certainly would not trust some stranger, some—

Lady Nora.

Nora Dunn-Sainny was the only daughter to Lord and Lady Dunn-Sainny. She was also the only kind member of the entire family. Margaret had memories of Lady Nora, back when she was a housemaid at Drumgoole. Lady Nora was sweet, and kind-hearted. She always acknowledged the presence of others, even the "invisible" servant (for unless summoned, servants were always meant to be deaf and invisible to their employers), always said "please" and "thank you". She was a good person, truly. Sometimes Margaret wondered if Lady Nora had been adopted. What other explanation could there be?

Four years ago, Lady Nora had married Lord Bellasis, who had come from England. The wedding had been quite the event in the county, Margaret remembered. Moira had just been born, and while she didn't go to the country church to attend the ceremony, she did watch the beautiful golden carriage carry Lady Nora from Drumgoole, like a princess in a fairy story.

The match was declared to be a very happy one, and the marriage was believed to be very happy. The couple resided in England most of the year, but was often seen visiting the county and driving around in their own carriage practically every summer. The only tragedy that seemed to have fallen upon Lady Nora and her handsome husband was that after four years of marriage…they still had no children.

Margaret Branson had heard all sorts of stories; stories about miscarriages and phantom pregnancies. There was even a tragic story about a still-birth, and a little girl who had died two days after entering the world. She didn't know what stories were true (or if any of them were) but she knew that the couple still had not had any children, and she could only imagine how desperate Lord Bellasis was to have an heir, like all men of his class.

…Perhaps...what if…what if she were to provide them with one?

_ STOP IT! Listen to yourself; how can you even contemplate—_

A wail from one of her sons brought her attention back to the cot.

And she realized why such a thought had entered her mind in the first place.

* * *

_Dublin, 1918_

She was always melancholy on the birthday of her youngest. Everyone else knew why of course…or so they thought. Actually, they knew a _shadow_ of the truth—only three people in the entire world knew the whole of it, and as far as Margaret Branson was concerned, those three would take the truth to their graves. At least that was what they had promised.

"Be sure to write, Tommy!" one of her daughters declared. "And tell Kieran to write as well! It wouldn't hurt him to pick up a pen now and then," Kathleen muttered, before enveloping her youngest brother in a tight hug.

"I promise, or at least I can make that promise for myself; I can't say the same about Kieran," he chuckled, returning the hug, easily engulfing his sister in his muscular arms. Margaret Branson looked at her boy, and not for the first time, in utter amazement. Once upon a time this broad-shouldered man was a tiny baby, screaming and crying in hunger, shivering in the cold, and twice he had nearly died from illness. And yet he proved all of them wrong: the doctors, the nurses, her relatives, even herself; her Tommy was much stronger. Her son was a survivor.

"Mam?"

She chocked back the sob that threatened to spill forth as she looked at him. Of all days, why today? Why on the day of their—_his_ birth, was he leaving?

He must have recognized her distress, because he was quick to move to her side and enfold her just has he had enfolded his older sister, in a giant hug. Margaret clung to him, her hands gripping the fabric of his coat. Her little boy…her youngest, baby boy, who looked nothing like a baby, not with his size and strength, was leaving. Leaving to find work in England.

Kieran, who had left over a year ago and started an auto mechanic's business in Liverpool, had written to them, telling them all about the need for young men to come and work, now that the War was over. The problem of course was finding so many jobs for ex-soldiers, especially ones who suffered from gruesome injuries. Her Tommy was lucky, in that sense; a unique medical condition had kept him out of the War, even when the British government demanded that Ireland send her sons into battle. She could not deny, she thanked God every night for not taking her son from her and sending him off to fight in another man's war. But by that same token, and despite the fact that she would miss him dreadfully, a part of her was grateful he was going away from Dublin and its brewing troubles.

"I will be back soon," he reassured, although he had agreed with her not to set any definite. She knew her son didn't want to stay away from Ireland forever; he loved Ireland as if it were one of his siblings. But it was "his turn" to do his part for the family…and if that meant finding work in England, at least for the time being, then so be it.

"I know, I know," she sniffled, putting on a smile and patting his back while reluctantly stepping out of his arms. "I'll simply blink," she demonstrated, "and find myself on this dock once again, waving to you as your ship arrives."

Tom chuckled and nodded his head, and Margaret's heart swelled as she saw tears shining in his beautiful blue eyes. _Aedan's eyes_. And not for the first time did she find herself wondering about another pair of eyes, a mirror copy to those of her youngest. What were they looking at on this day? A cake? Party decorations? A sea of guests coming to wish him well? Was the woman that he called "mother" also hugging him as she hugged Tom?

"Mam?" Tom's voice brought her out of her thoughts. He looked so concerned, and he opened his mouth to ask the question he always asked on this day, ever since he was a small boy and noticed how sad she looked, but she stopped him. She put on that smile again and reached forward to pat his cheek.

"I will miss you, _mo fuaime_," she told him, smiling bravely for her son, for all her children who were there to wish her youngest well. "Now you best get on that boat before it leaves without you."

He smiled down at her, although it was a sad smile. She could see the questions in his eyes, as well as understanding as to why she was sad. Only the problem was he didn't understand, not completely. None of them did. None of them understood that this wasn't the first time she had to part with a child who left for England. They didn't understand that her other little boy, the one who shared her Tommy's eyes, was also celebrating his birthday today, but completely ignorant to the sadness she felt. They didn't understand that so often she sometimes found herself, when she looked at her son, seeing how much he had grown over the years, if that other boy who truly was a stranger to her now…if he still looked like her Tommy? And then other questions would come to her mind, questions she didn't know the answers to and she feared to ever learn, despite her curiosity.

Did he have a family of his own now? A wife and children? Was she a grandmother to faceless grandchildren who never knew about their father's past or where he had come from?

Did he sound English? Lady Nora was Irish, but he would have grown up in England, surrounded by English children. Did he know any of the languages of his homeland?

Had he gone to war? Did he fight for the British Army? Was he a decorated officer?

Then there were the questions she always dreaded, ones that began to fill her head when news of the War broke out. Questions that she knew she shouldn't ask, knew there was no point in asking since she would be completely helpless against them, and yet…they haunted her.

…Had he managed to escape the war unharmed? Or…or had he suffered terrible injuries, like so many of the young men she had seen return; men missing legs or arms, men who were blind or whose faces had been hideously scarred? Men who looked well on the outside, but whose pale faces and hollow eyes hid a deeper horror within?

…Had he survived at all?

"_Is breá liom tú__,"_ he spoke, breaking through her thoughts once again. She looked up at her son and he was smiling down at her, a warm, tender, but sad smile. "I love you, mam," he repeated again in English. "I'll miss you too."

"Oh Tommy," she gasped, holding back the sob that threatened to erupt from her throat. She hugged him again, grabbing him up in her arms and squeezing him tight. He was much too big for her to lift off the ground, and yet despite his size and age, he would always be her baby. Her little baby boy…

She felt the arms of her other children move around her then, hugging the both of them and murmuring goodbyes, before finally, with a deep breath and a great deal of strength, Margaret placed her hands on her son's broad shoulders and gave them a gentle push, urging him to turn and board the boat while she still had the will to let him go.

"Happy Birthday, Tommy!" his siblings called out to him as he waved and boarded. Margaret smiled, despite the tears that filled her eyes and were now beginning to drip down her face. While thoughts and questions about that other child, that son she once had, that had once shared her husband's name still continued to haunt her, now twenty-eight years later…she couldn't help but gaze up at the son she did know, the son who bore the name of Branson, and who, despite the distance that would now be placed between them, was _still_ hers.

Yes, despite the sin she had committed all those years ago, and the lies she had spun to protect her children…or at least that was the excuse she had given herself…despite all those things and all the hardships she and her family had endured, she really truly couldn't be prouder of her son. And even though she had begged them at the time to take both boys, not wanting one to grow up in such finery while the other struggled to stay alive…she would be forever grateful to the Bellasis' in their insistence that she not lose them both.

Margaret Branson sighed and smiled through her tears, waving at her son and watching as the boat began to sail away from the harbor, her eyes never leaving it, even when it was just a speck on the horizon. Only then did she finally turn, her youngest daughter, Moira, her only companion, while the others had gone back to their homes to care and tend to their own families.

"Home, mam?" her daughter asked her.

Margaret shook her head. "Not yet."

Recognition filled her daughter's eyes. "Of course," she whispered. Without another word, she linked her arm through her mother's and the two walked from the docks to the church the Branson family had attended ever since moving to Dublin twenty-seven years ago. In the excitement of seeing her youngest brother off, Moira had forgotten about the other ritual that was always honored on her brother's birthday. Upon entering the church, Moira moved to light a candle in memory of her brother who had gone to sit with the angels and watch over them, but Margaret paused, glancing over that the cloaked confessional.

While her daughter prepared the candle, Margaret did what she did every year on this day. She shut the door and pulled the curtain, knelt and clasped her hands together, before asking the priest on the other side to bless and absolve her of the horrendous sin she had committed all those years ago…and lie she had created so that no one would know of her shame and weakness. And like every year, the priest would give her the prayers to say to seek God's forgiveness, and Margaret would proceed to pray each and every one in the man's hearing, before receiving a final blessing and being assured that God had heard her confession and prayers, and would forgive her of her sins.

But that was just the problem. God may very well forgive her for what she had done all those years ago. But everyone else? Tommy and her other children? Her beautiful boy, whom she had given to the Bellasis' with hope that he would be spared the hardships of this life? No…that was a forgiveness she knew she would never receive.

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from Google Translate:

_mo fuaime_ = my son

_Is breá liom tú_ = I love you


	2. Chapter 2

_Ok, not to spoil you guys...BUT I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF! Yes, yes, I updated! The muse bit after that first chapter, and so here is the second, which in its own way is a "second introduction/prologue". I should warn you that I can't make promises to update like this *this* quickly, but after explaining the "origin" of the Branson twins, I really wanted to write one that explained (to a point) what happened to the Crawley girls, and so here it is! _

_And big, huge THANK YOU's to EVERYONE who kindly read, reviewed, followed, and favorite this story! I'm so glad so many people are excited for, I am too! It's going to be lots of fun; I mean how could it not be? DOUBLE THE BRANSONS!_

_One more note; this story *will* be light-hearted and funny for the most part, but both the last chapter and this one are probably examples of the two darkest moments in this fic. The subjects of still-births and miscarriages come up in this chapter, so just a word of warning to readers. But hopefully, by the end of the chapter, you'll be excited to see where things go and what happens next for our characters. Thank you again for reading and I hope you enjoy!_

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_Chapter Two_

_Yorkshire, 1896_

She had been assisting the good doctor ever since he had arrived six hours ago, and had not left her Lady's side since the contractions started earlier that morning, shortly after breakfast. Sarah O'Brien had been serving as Lady's Maid to the Countess of Grantham for nearly ten years, and had stayed with her and assisted where she could with her last two births. Now here she was, assisting again, while his Lordship waited a floor below for the blessed news that he had a son and heir. Yes, everyone from Mr. Carson to the Dowager Countess were positive that _this time_, finally…her Ladyship would do her duty and produce the long-awaited heir to Downton Abbey and the earldom.

But things were not going well.

Her Ladyship's last two labors had been both long and strenuous, but when the entire business was over, her Ladyship glowed and gazed at her two daughters with such love and pride that no one would dare murmur a word of disappointment that Lady Mary and Lady Edith had been born as girls.

But something was different. Something wasn't right.

Before, her Ladyship tried to overcome the pain of the first few hours by walking around the room, standing and leaning against a chair or dressing table. This time, the pain was so sharp that her Ladyship could barely move, let alone stand on her feet and walk. She lay flat on her back, gripping the sheets and gasping, groaning, weeping as the pain hit her over and over with each contraction.

She was pale too, despite the sweat and heat of the room for early June. No, something wasn't right, and Sarah immediately went to inform his Lordship that she believed it would be best for Dr. Clarkson to come at once.

However, as Miss O'Brien would soon learn, the good doctor was assisting another woman with a difficult labor, a woman Sarah knew very well.

Her sister, Fanny, had nowhere else to go. Fanny's husband, Malcolm, was a no good drunken lout who was a fisherman and spent more of his time at sea than on dry land. And when his ship was in port, Fanny never knew if he would come home, or spend all his time in some pub or, as she suspected, some house of ill-repute, wasting his money on drink and prostitutes, instead of caring for his wife and soon to enter this world, first born. Well, third, really. Poor Fanny had miscarried twice before, and Malcolm blamed her entirely. His words of anger and scorn had hit their mark, because Fanny believed that it was her fault that both babies had died, despite what the doctors had told her. She believed that perhaps, just this once, if she were to give Malcolm a healthy child, he would stop his whoring and drinking and _finally_ be the proper husband and father she had hoped for.

Yet when she had made the announcement that she was with child again, Malcolm went into a jealous rage, accusing her of being unfaithful and breaking their marriage vows, because how could he be the father of this child, after spending so many months at sea?

Sarah had never questioned her sister about the parentage of her baby; however she too couldn't help but be a little suspicious as to the timing of this pregnancy.

Malcolm more or less threw Fanny out, and Fanny went to the only place she could think of (and the only place that was nearby) which was Downton Village. It was a most unusual situation and a very awkward one as well. Miss O'Brien found a room at the Grantham Arms for her sister to reside in until the baby was born. After that, she had no idea what Fanny was going to do; most likely return to that lout, but what else could she do? And Fanny was still hopeful that perhaps if she showed him the child, showed him his likeness in the baby, that not only would she be back in his good graces, but he would finally be all those things she wanted in a spouse.

Yet things were not looking good at the Grantham Arms, either.

Dr. Clarkson sighed sadly as the labor finally came to an end. He quietly approached Miss O'Brien's sister, who was demanding to know why her child wasn't crying. He tried to explain the situation carefully, telling her what she had heard countless times in the past, that this "wasn't her fault", "a horrible tragedy", but "nothing could have been done", and so on and so forth.

Fanny didn't hear a word. She was staring blankly ahead, rocking herself back and forth, muttering under her breath "what will Malcolm say? What will Malcolm say?" over and over.

He would have stayed with her longer, if a maid hadn't come up to the room and frantically knocked on the door, telling the doctor he was needed at once up at the big house. It was there that Sarah learned the truth about her sister, how the labor pains came far too early, and the child was stillborn.

She was stunned, although there was a small part of her that honestly was not surprised by this news. Poor Fanny. Dr. Clarkson suggested that she leave her Ladyship in his care and go to her sister, but Sarah came out of her stupor and shook her head. Nothing could be done now for Fanny's child, but she may still be able to assist Dr. Clarkson with her Ladyship's. And so she remained, bathing her Lady's brow, holding her hand, urging her to push when the doctor told her to.

Hours passed, and Dr. Clarkson was not looking optimistic. Lord Grantham had come twice to his wife's room, looking tired and disheveled and worried. He seemed torn, as if he was debating if he should pass the room's threshold and enter, or remain out of sight so as not to get in the way. It was during his second visit that her Ladyship let out a mighty scream that chilled Sarah to her core. Suddenly Dr. Clarkson and the nurse who had come with him began muttering something about blood, and Lord Grantham gasped, his hand rising to his mouth and for the first time since coming to work at Downton, Sarah O'Brien saw the Earl of Grantham cry.

But she had no time to ease his worry. She turned back to her Ladyship and handed the doctor the towels that he would need to mop up the blood.

Was it her imagination or did the room seem to spin? A strange haze seemed to fill the area; people were shouting, her Ladyship was screaming, his Lordship could be heard sobbing in the corridor, and the horrible odor of blood filled the air.

And then…a new sound broke through all others.

A child's cry. To be specific, a _newborn_ child!

"It's a girl!" the nurse assisting Dr. Clarkson announced.

_Ah well, another disappointment for his Lordship,_ Sarah thought. Still, judging from the wails that were escaping the child's lungs, she sounded healthy!

"Well done, milady, well done!" she said turning to her Ladyship. However, Sarah's smile disappeared as she noticed the way her Ladyship's face was still scrunched tightly in pain, and her breathing was coming in short, hard rasps. "What's going on?" she demanded, turning to Dr. Clarkson. This was not like the last two times. After the births, her Ladyship had recovered very quickly, and would immediately demand to hold her new daughter.

But it was nothing like that this time.

"I don't believe it," Dr. Clarkson gasped.

"What? What is it?"

"Twins!"

Now it was Sarah's turn to gasp. _Twins?_

The nurse had cut the cord and cleaned up the first child, wrapping her quickly in a soft blanket, before handing her to Sarah, urging her to go and show his Lordship. Sarah was torn but did as the nurse said, finding his Lordship pacing the corridor just outside and looking so anxious. "Another daughter, milord," Sarah said, showing him the child. She expected him to look sour, perhaps even disappointed. After all, he still had no heir to inherit. Yet his Lordship gasped, and with trembling hands took the little girl who seemed to finally manage to quiet down, especially now that she was in the hands of her father.

"Cora?" he asked, looking to Sarah for hopeful confirmation. But that hope died quickly when she was unable to give it to him.

Another one of her Ladyship's screams suddenly filled the air, and Lord Grantham nearly staggered at the sound. "Good God, what…what's happen—"

"It's twins, milord," Sarah informed him, carefully watching him hold the baby.

"TWINS?" he gasped, staring in shock. Maybe he would get that son and heir after all?

But at the sound of another one of her Ladyship's screams, Sarah turned on her heel and went right back into the room…just in time to hear another child's cry.

Only this time, it was weaker. Much, much weaker.

Dr. Clarkson glanced at the nurse, who didn't look very positive. They both seemed to realize then that she had reentered the room, and therefore put smiles on before informing her that it was another girl. "Identical twins," Dr. Clarkson added.

_Another_ girl. Such a pity. She felt sorry for her Lady; she knew how desperately her Ladyship wanted to give his Lordship a son.

But she noticed how…_quiet_ the newborn was, especially compared to the first.

"O'Brien?"

Sarah gasped and turned to her Ladyship, moving quickly and kneeling by her side. "Yes, milady? I'm here."

She swallowed, looking so exhausted. "Where…?"

Sarah knew what was asking for. "His Lordship has the first one," she began to say, and then quickly explained that her Ladyship had given birth to twins!

"Identical twins!" Dr. Clarkson added again, putting on a smile. Yet Sarah was not fooled; she could tell that both the good doctor and his nurse were keeping something…and she had a horrible feeling it had something to do with that second baby.

"Twins…?" her Ladyship asked weakly, trying to sit up despite what the doctor was telling her.

"Two girls," Sarah added quickly, not wanting her Ladyship to get her hopes up that the much-needed and desired heir had been born.

But if her Ladyship was disappointed by the news, she didn't show it. "Where…I…I want to see…" she was trying to sit up again, her hands desperately reaching out to hold her newborns. Sarah wanted to hand the babies to her, but she glanced over her shoulder at the doctor and nurse, both of whom were leaning over the most recent bundle, and both whispering and looking…worried.

"Shall I let his Lordship in?" she asked, hoping that would distract her Ladyship, as well as alert Dr. Clarkson that whatever explanation needed to be given, he better do it quickly.

She didn't even have to open the door, his Lordship entered the room as if on cue, still holding and bouncing the newest Crawley daughter in his arms and immediately going to his wife's side. "Oh!" her Ladyship gasped, seeing the tiny girl who truly had the most striking pair of blue eyes. "Oh she's beautiful!" her Ladyship murmured reverently, while crying in happiness at the sight. It was a sweet moment, this scene of a happy family, but Sarah knew it was not going to last, especially when her Ladyship lifted her head in anticipation and asked, "Where's her sister?"

Dr. Clarkson cleared his throat, and judging from the expression on his face, it did not look good. Sarah stood silently in the corner of the room while the doctor explained that the child was extremely small, mentioning something about her lungs were weak, her heartbeat was weak, over and over he used the word "weak".

…And it did not look promising.

The child was taken by Dr. Clarkson to a separate room where she could be watched and observed, although Sarah swore she heard him mutter to the nurse, "If she makes the night, it will be a miracle."

Now with the "excitement" of the evening over (at least for the time being), Sarah was given permission by his Lordship to go to the Grantham Arms to see her sister, who seemed to be in the same state Dr. Clarkson had described to her when he had left: pale, hollow, rocking herself back and forth, and murmuring over and over, "What will Malcolm say?"

Sarah also noticed that nearby lay a laundry basket…covered with a sheet.

It didn't take a genius for Sarah to deduce what was lying beneath it.

"All I ever wanted was a child…" Fanny gasped, looking at no one. "All I ever wanted was to give Malcolm a child…"

Malcolm Crawford didn't deserve anything from her sister, but Sarah had long since vowed to stay out of the whole mess. Yet now…as she stood in this room, her gaze moving back and forth from the covered basket to the weeping woman rocking back and forth…

An idea was dawning.

A terrible, awful, scandalous idea, one that even weeks later, after the idea had been carried out, Sarah O'Brien would sit and cry and bitterly regret her weakness in seeing it through…

But by then it was too late.

By then the funeral had been performed, the condolences had been offered, and the tombstone had been ordered. By then a tiny coffin had been buried and wept over by a grieving mother, while her husband stood nearby, holding a crying child.

By then everyone believed that the identical sibling to little Lady Sybil Crawley was residing in heaven with the angels.

…And not on her way to Liverpool with her new mother.

* * *

_York, 1919_

"Right…one month's wages," grumbled a stern voice, holding an envelope out for her to take.

Sarah Crawford sighed and took it from Mr. Jennings hands, murmuring a quick thank you and offering a curtsey, before turning to leave the butler's pantry.

"It's a shame it had to be like this, Sarah," the butler called out when she reached the door. "You're a good worker, I'll not deny that." She turned and looked over her shoulder at the gray-haired man that everyone at Colton Park lived in fear of. It was rare to receive any sort of compliment from the crusty butler, and this was the closest she had ever heard him mutter towards her. "Such a waste," he sighed, not even bothering to look up from the paperwork on his desk. "Such a pity, such a waste."

Sarah stiffened, but kept her mouth shut. In all her years of working in service, she had learned the careful art of picking and choosing one's battles. And even though someone could argue and say that she had nothing left to lose, the truth of the matter was her heart was too sad and too tired. She just wanted to go; leave Colton Park and never look back.

She exited the butler's pantry and reentered the Servant's Hall, not surprised that the chatter which was going on around the table came to a stop upon her reentrance. She didn't bother to look up; she knew the faces that would greet her, who would be looking sympathetic and pitiful, who would be looking stern and ashamed, and then a few that she knew who would be smirking at her misfortune.

"Do you have everything you need, Miss Crawford?" a stern voice spoke. Sarah lifted her eyes to meet those of Mrs. Miller, the housekeeper. She simply nodded her head, quickly buttoning up her coat and moving beyond the Servant's Hall to the corridor just beyond where her suitcase and handbag rested and waited for her.

"Bye, bye Sarah!" cooed a voice from the Servant's Hall.

"Hush, Ethel!" Mrs. Miller hissed, but despite the reprimand, a group around the table burst into giggles at the ginger-haired housemaid's mocking farewell.

Still, Sarah was not to be outdone entirely. While she may not choose to stand up to Mr. Jennings, she would not let Ethel Parks get the better of her. "By all means, you're welcome to him!" she shouted back. "Perhaps now that I'm leaving, he'll finally notice you?"

A gasp went throughout the Servant's Hall, and Sarah couldn't help but smile to herself as she imagined the furious look that was coloring the housemaid's face now.

Mrs. Miller did not look pleased. "That was uncalled for, Sarah," she muttered disapprovingly.

It was; it was an insult not only to Ethel, but to the very family which until this morning, she had been serving for the past five years. However, Sarah did not feel any sort of pity or regret for her comment; not when the Bryants had turned a deaf ear to her explanations, or a blind eye to their son's rakish behavior.

"My apologies, Mrs. Miller," she murmured, although she had a feeling that the housekeeper was aware that she spoke the words for formality's sake, and not because she genuinely meant them.

Mrs. Miller proceeded to walk Sarah to the door. "And where will you go?" she asked, the usual stern and harsh tone she was known for lightening slightly, with an air of concern tinged at its edges.

Sarah bit her lip, not sure how to answer. She really didn't want to go back to Liverpool; there was nothing for her there other than painful memories. Manchester perhaps? There was always London, of course, and being such a large city, that may be her best option with finding work. But the idea frightened her, especially since she had never stepped foot in the capital city, before. Where would she even start?

"Well…" her attention was drawn back to Mrs. Miller who was addressing her again. "I know that Mr. Jennings made it very clear _not_ to give you a reference…"

Sarah's eyes widened as she looked at the housekeeper and noticed that she was holding a folded piece of paper. "Mrs. Miller!" she gasped. "I…I don't know what to—"

"It's not what you think, my dear," Mrs. Miller clarified. "So before you start getting your hopes up, let me be quite clear by telling you this is _not_ a reference," she placed the paper in Sarah's confused hands. "But it is something."

Sarah's brow furrowed with even more confusion, but she unfolded the paper and began to read its contents…quickly realizing that it was a letter, addressed to Mrs. Miller.

"My cousin," Mrs. Miller explained. "He runs a pub and an inn in the village of Downton."

"Downton?" Sarah asked, looking up with curious eyes. Why did that name sound familiar to her?

"Yes, where Downton Abbey resides, the home and seat for the Earl of Grantham," Mrs. Miller explained with a slight dismissive gesture of her hand. "Anyway, my cousin wrote to me a fortnight ago, asking if I could recommend any girls to come and work as maids. Apparently since the War ended, his business has doubled; so many poor soldiers have no place to go, and are making their homes at inns such as his."

Sarah was staring back at Mrs. Miller in shock. "You…you recommended me…?"

The housekeeper looked a little guilty (she was not one to go out of her way and "disobey" Mr. Jennings), however, the butler said not to give Miss Crawford a reference; he never said she couldn't recommend the girl to her cousin as a possible pub maid.

"It won't pay you nearly as much as you made here," Mrs. Miller grunted. "But…it will keep you from starving and freezing and give you time to eventually find something better."

Sarah wanted to launch herself at the housekeeper and hug her so tightly, thanking her over and over for what she had done. Things didn't look so bleak now! She had a job (well, a potential job, if Mrs. Miller's cousin approved of hiring her) but compared to how things looked this morning when she received word that Mr. Jennings had summoned her to his office, and compared to the previous evening when Lord Bryant thundered and roared and hurled insult after insult at her…

Indeed, in the light of the new day, things were looking much, much better.

_A new life, _she found herself thinking with a smile._ A new life away from this house! And away from _him!

"Oh Mrs. Miller, I…I don't know what to say, but thank you! Thank you so much!"

"Calm down, child, calm down!" the housekeeper hissed, glancing nervously over her shoulder to make sure no one else had heard them. "And don't thank me yet; that letter is his response to my recommendation, which I only sent a few days ago—"

Sarah was startled by this revelation, but the look on Mrs. Miller's face told her that the housekeeper was well aware with how unhappy Sarah had been, working there at Colton Park, especially since now that the War was over, a certain "gentleman" would be about.

"Thank you," Sarah murmured again, doing her best to fight back the tears that threatened to fall. She had not known a life of kindness; most people she met were hard and cruel, with agendas of their own to fulfill, and a willingness to sacrifice others to see those agendas through. So on the rare occasions that Sarah did encounter kindness, it always moved her to tears.

"Yes, well, you best be off," the housekeeper answered, doing her best to not show the emotion that was welling up in her steel gray eyes. "A bus will depart for Downton at half-past three; I suggest you be on it so you can reach the village before it gets dark."

Sarah smiled and nodded her head, and deciding to break propriety, threw her arms around the rigid woman, hugging her tight, before releasing her and grabbing her suitcase and handbag and hurrying out the door.

_Downton._ That was where she was going to make her fresh start. She couldn't help but smile at the thought. It was more than just the promise of a new job and a new life; there was something about that word…"Downton"…that made her grin.


	3. Chapter 3

_ANOTHER UPDATE! You all are spoiling me with inspiration ;o) _

_Ok, first some back-story to this story. So (obviously) this is AU, which also means some events from the show either haven't happened yet, will never happen, or will happen *differently*. For example, Sir Anthony Strallan and Edith are married; he proposed at the garden party in 1x06. Mary and Matthew are married; they didn't marry until the War was over, but they were engaged this entire time (no other engagements, which also means no mysterious Swire fortune). Robert did make some bad investments but NOWHERE as bad as what we saw on the show; i.e. the Crawley's are not in danger of losing Downton, but they are facing some financial difficulties. And last but not least, Gwen is *still* working at the house...for the moment._

_And this chapter takes place 3 months after Sarah left Colton Park at the end of chapter 2. OK! I *think* that covers everything...more will be explained as the story goes. Hope you enjoy! OH! And I made a slight reference to a Disney film in this...see if you can spot it ;o) AND a little dedication to **Queenlovett**, for whom I named the Strallan's daughter after._

* * *

_Chapter Three_

_Three Months Later…_

The terrace doors burst open and the shocked gasps of several housemaids filled the air, causing Robert Crawley to lift his head from the paperwork his estate manager had left for him and turn with a furrowed brow towards the library door. What on earth…?

He rose from his chair when he heard the sounds of…water? Yes, water, dripping all over the floor…and the squishy sound of wet shoes and wet fabric hitting the floor. He also heard muttering; angry, exasperated muttering…

Robert quickly walked towards the library doors and peered out into the hall, and stared in horror as he took in the sight of what had the housemaids gasping.

"Mr. Grey?" he finally managed to speak, getting through his shock at the sight of the tall, dark-haired man whom his family had known for years…and who just so happened to be soaking wet, from head to toe. "Good God, Larry," Robert gasped, his eyes still wide with horror at the sight of his friend's son. "What happened?"

Larry Grey was muttering things under his breath, wringing out his soaked handkerchief all over the hall floor, and trying in vain to push back the wet strands of hair that were hanging around his eyes. "What happened?" he snarled, snapping his fingers to no one in particular, but the gesture indicating that he was demanding his hat and walking stick. "WHAT HAPPENED?" he repeated, his voice rising another octave. He then made a wild gesture with one of his drenched arms, causing water to splatter all upon several paintings that hung nearby. "_SHE_ is what happened!" he growled.

Robert turned his eyes towards the terrace doors, catching sight of the very person to whom Mr. Grey was referring. He closed his eyes and sighed, before turning back to face him. "Larry, I shall go and speak with her at once, I—"

But Larry Grey wasn't prepared to hear any of it. Carson appeared then, staring aghast at the puddles forming on the polished floor and staining the carpets, but still somehow managed to hand Mr. Grey his hat and walking stick.

"Don't bother," Larry muttered, snatching the items out of the butler's hands and stalking off towards the door, his wet shoes squishing as he went. "AND GOOD LUCK MARRYING HER OFF!"

Robert remained right where he was, his eyes wide and his jaw hanging open as Larry Grey's words echoed off the walls of the great hall. Eventually he closed his mouth and stared at Carson, who looked just as stunned by both the sight of a drenched Mr. Grey, and his angry outburst. He then glanced over his shoulder at the two housemaids who had witnessed the whole thing, but they quickly made themselves busy, going about the task of cleaning up Mr. Grey's wet footprints before even being told.

Robert swallowed and straightened his shoulders, his hands coming to rest on the lapels of his suit coat, before sighing and turning his gaze on the open terrace doors.

"Sybil…" he muttered.

She was kneeling on the grass, tossing a stick and giggling as Isis would go and chase after it, only to bring it back and drop it at Sybil's knees, wagging her tail in excitement for the game to continue. If he hadn't seen Larry Grey stalk off, soaked head to toe, he would never have thought something had gone amiss!

"Sybil," he called out, trying to sound stern and intimidating. However, that was the problem; he never seemed to be able to intimidate her. His youngest daughter was fearless.

"Sybil," he tried again, becoming irritated that she wasn't even bothering to turn and face him. Was she really going to make him walk right up and—

"Yes, Papa?" she answered with a weary sigh, before rising to her full knight, brushing any grass off her skirt, before finally turning to face him.

She had put a smile on, but Robert wasn't fooled. "I just saw Larry Grey—"

"Oh did you?" she turned her attention back to Isis, who was sitting on her haunches and gazing up at her with hopes that she would throw the stick again.

Robert rolled his eyes. "You _know_ I did; and you also know the state to which I saw him in!"

Sybil shrugged. "Well it is a rather warm day for May; perhaps he decided to cool off—"

"SYBIL!" he all but roared, his patience snapping. "What happened!?"

She sighed and folded her arms across her chest. She didn't look the least bit intimidated despite his shout. "If you must know…" she began. "He fell into the fountain."

Robert's brow furrowed with confusion, and his eyes moved beyond where Sybil stood to the large stone fountain that lay in the center of the garden. "How…?" he turned his gaze back to her. "How…why…?"

She sighed again and turned her attention back to Isis, tossing the stick again and watching as the dog chased after it. She muttered something under her breath, but Robert struggled to hear it. She groaned, her face turning red, before once again repeating herself (and keeping her eyes on the dog). "He tried to kiss me."

Robert stared at her, his eyes widening at this revelation. In truth, he wasn't quite sure how to react. Outraged? No, but at the same time he could not deny he was comfortable with the idea of Larry Grey kissing his daughter, at least not until after they were married…and even then the idea caused his stomach to turn slightly.

"So…" he tried to understand. "So he tried to kiss you, and…and you pushed him into the fountain?"

"Oh of course not, Papa!" she gasped, but he could tell it was mock outrage. "No, I simply…moved out of the way." He noticed the way in which she bit her lip…as if to keep herself from laughing.

Robert groaned and lifted his fingers to rub the bridge of his nose. He could feel a migraine coming on. "Sybil—"

"No, Papa," she stated firmly, surprising him. He looked at her and saw that the amusement that had momentarily lit her eyes at the memory of Larry Grey falling into the fountain after attempting to kiss her was gone. Now _she_ was the stern looking one, and unlike himself…_she_ had the potential to intimidate him.

"I know what you're going to say," she continued, squaring her shoulders and holding his gaze with a sharp one of her own. "And…if you wish for me to write to the Greys and offer any apologies for 'getting their hopes up' then I will do so. But I will not make any apology to _him_," she all but spat his name. "Nor will I pursue the matter further, where he is concerned." She turned then and began to walk away, leaving him standing there and staring with his jaw, once again, hanging open at her declaration. However, just before he called back to her, she paused, and then turned to face him once more. "Actually, I take that back."

Robert closed his mouth, a wave of relief falling over him.

It was short lived.

"When I said I would not pursue the matter further? I mean it in general; not just when it comes to Larry Grey."

Robert's jaw fell open again. "Sybil!" he began to sputter, quickly following her, Isis on his heels. "Sybil, stop this instant!" he huffed as he cut off her exit before reentering the house. "What do you mean 'you will not pursue the matter further'?"

"Exactly what it sounds like, Papa."

She tried to move around him, but he blocked her attempt. "Am I to understand that you are _refusing_ to even…to even _consider_ marriage—?"

"Why does it matter?" she asked, looking him directly in the eyes and challenging him to answer her honestly. "Why does it matter that I marry at all?"

He honestly didn't know how to answer her because he honestly never thought about the possibility! Wasn't this the sort of thing all young ladies dreamed about? Marrying and living in a fine house someday? Didn't every little girl imagine her wedding day and the beautiful gown she would wear? Wasn't that…normal?

"Sybil, you must—"

"Must I?" she challenged, her arms once again folding across her chest. "I honestly do not see the reason! I'm not set to inherit any grand fortune or estate, even if I were allowed," she muttered in disgust. "My sisters were fortunate; not only did they find husbands that suited them, but men whom they love! Mary just married Matthew, your heir, which means that Mama's money will safely remain with the family, as will Downton. Edith is married to Sir Anthony Strallan and they have a daughter and are quite happy. As for myself…" she sighed and looked down at her feet for a moment. "...why can't I be perfectly happy 'unmarried'? And please; please do not mimic Granny and say anything about the 'embarrassment of being a spinster'," she groaned. "A woman's worth and value should not be based upon whether she is a man's wife or not. A woman can have just as much as a wonderful, fulfilling life if she were to never marry!"

Robert had to cut in. "But who will take care of you, Sybil? Who will provide for you?"

"Must someone provide for me? Can I not take care of myself?"

Robert gave her a hard, stern look. "Just because women have received the vote doesn't mean that the world is ready to move _that_ far forward."

She narrowed her eyes at him and he swallowed a nervous lump. "I'm not saying I would never consider marriage," she stated. "Simply…that I see no reason in pushing for it!"

"Pushing for it?"

"Yes, Papa, pushing for it! That is exactly what you and Mama are doing! You think I'm not blind as to why you asked Larry to come up here and pay a call?"

Robert's face burned brightly at her accusation. "The Greys have always been close friends to our family…" his words trailed off because judging from the steel look she was giving him, he knew that no amount of excuses he tried to make would convince her that she had misunderstood the intent of Larry's visit.

"Larry Grey is one of the most…most…" she threw her hands up into the air in pure exasperation. "One of the most rude, conceited, arrogant—ugh!" she groaned. "If I ever do marry, it will not be to such a…such a…such a 'git' as him!"

"Sybil!" he hissed, shocked by the slur she had used. Yet another downside into allowing her to become a nurse; she had picked up some of the most horrible slang!

She looked a little embarrassed and her cheeks flushed a bright pink. Still, she held her ground and lifted her chin. "I'm not even twenty-three Papa; I don't see the rush!"

Robert rolled his eyes. Where was his wife? Cora would be much more suited to this argument than he; he was making a right mess of things.

"Sybil, it's not that I don't think you are…capable, of looking after yourself; both of us, your mother and I, are very, very proud for all that you did during the War. You inspired both your sisters, and were a great help to Matthew after his injury, not to mention all the work you did with Cousin Isobel with the convalescent home, but…" he sighed, knowing she would despise him for bringing this up, but he needed her to see reason. "But the War is over; and it's time for things to return to how they once were."

"But I don't want to go back to all that!" Sybil threw her hands out at her sides. "I know what _real work_ is like, Papa! I actually like it! I—"

"Sybil," he spoke sternly, taking a step forward, his expression dark. "There will be no more talk about you going and working in a hospital as a professional nurse, do you understand?" She was staring back at him, and her jaw tightened, angry tears filling her lovely blue eyes. It hurt for him to say this to her, but she needed to hear the truth. She needed to accept it. Earl's daughters just…didn't do things like that! "I'm sorry," he sighed, hating the sight of the tears in her eyes and knowing his words were causing them. "But…for all your talk about moving forward, it's time to move forward with this, and accept the truth."

She stared at him, her eyes widening and her own mouth falling open in shock. But that flash of anger he had seen earlier suddenly returned, and Robert actually took a quick retreating step back. "Move forward?" she all but growled. "So by…by 'going back to how things once were', you see _that_ as 'moving forward'?"

He gulped. "Sybil, you know what I mean—"

"No, Papa! No, I don't, because that sort of thinking makes NO SENSE!" she threw her hands up again and shook her head. "I have nothing more to say. Only that if I cannot control my future in what I want to do with my life, then _I will_ have control in _who_ I choose to marry, _if_ I choose to marry!" And with that, she brushed past him into the house.

Robert groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose again. He didn't see or speak to his youngest for the rest of the day, and wasn't sure if she would even be present at dinner! But she was, and she was polite and civil, but nothing further was said about their previous conversation, nor was anything said about her time spent with Larry Grey in the garden. Robert made sure to caution Cora before dinner _not_ to bring the subject up.

Dinner at Downton was a quiet affair now. Edith had been the first daughter to marry, shortly after the announcement of the War, and resided at nearby Loxley. Mary and Matthew had married nearly a month ago, and were enjoying a rather long and blissful honeymoon. So really, a majority of the dinners at Downton were between Robert, Cora, Sybil, and Violet, with occasional visits by Isobel. Thankfully, tonight was an evening where his mother would not be in attendance, due to a persistant headache she had been feeling earlier that day. Robert could relate very well.

When dinner was over and Sybil had excused herself, both Robert and Cora escaped to the library, where he began to reveal at last all that had happened.

"She pushed him in?" Cora gasped, after he told her about seeing Larry Grey soaking wet in the great hall.

"No, she claims he was trying to kiss her," Robert explained, frowning again at this detail, "And she simply...'maneuvered' herself away from him, and he lost his balance and fell into the fountain."

"Gracious!" Cora whispered, before closing her eyes and sighing. "No doubt his mother will soon be sending me a letter, demanding an explanation."

"Oh never mind the Greys," Robert groaned, walking over to brandy decanter and pouring himself a glass. "What's to be done about Sybil? She refuses to marry anyone!"

Cora sighed wearily, before making a motion with her hand for Robert to pour her a glass as well. "I don't know," she sighed. "It's not as if the countryside is overrun with young men of good fortune right now."

"No…" Robert sighed sadly, pausing as he thought of the many that had fallen during the War. An entire generation lost, so the papers were saying. Not to mention that so many great houses and families had fallen, paying a hefty toll on the rough economy that soon followed the War's wake.

"Not that fortune matters a great deal," Cora added. "I mean, Sybil strikes me as the sort who would be perfectly happy living in a middle class home as a solicitor's wife, don't you think?"

Robert made a face at the idea. True, Matthew had come from such an upbringing and was a fine, upstanding man, like the son he had never had. And perhaps Cora was right, perhaps that was the direction for Sybil to take? However he could only just imagine the arguments his mother would make at such a suggestion.

"I have no doubts that you're right on that subject, however I don't know if our circumstances are that dire; I know, I know," he quickly responded to the face his wife was making at him. "I know it sounds 'stuffy and English of me'—"

"More like stuffy and snobby," she cut in, grinning at him as she accepted the offered brandy glass.

"That too," he conceded. "However…I just fear the 'fortune hunters'; I do not want Sybil to be exposed to such ruffians," he muttered, lifting his own glass to his lips, before pausing. "Not there is much of a fortune to be had."

Cora gave him a sympathetic look, one which he did not deserve. The War had been hard on them as well. Robert had not made the wisest of investments during its turbulent years, and had lost a large quantity of his wife's money. It could have been worse—much, much worse; Murray had advised him not to put the whole of the fortune into the Canadian railway company that had turned out to be a bad investment, and only because of that advice, were the Crawley's still living at Downton.

But just barely, or so it felt. Indeed, many changes had to be made, including certain social changes. For one, they would not be attending this London's season, even though it would give them a great opportunity to introduce Sybil to some potential suitors. But after the fiasco in the garden today, perhaps it was for the best that they wouldn't be attending?

"Perhaps she's right," Cora sighed, breaking through his thoughts. "Her birthday isn't for a few more weeks, and even then she'll only be twenty-three; that is still quite young. There isn't a rush to get her married, surely?"

Robert looked at his wife with tenderness, knowing that she was having a somewhat difficult time, adjusting to this new life where now two daughters were married. Yet even so, he knew Cora was just as worried as he was in Sybil's future, and while an older husband had proved to be a well-suited match for his middle daughter, he did not think such a match would suit his youngest. But really, what would suit Sybil?

_Working as a nurse in some busy, city hospital,_ a voice in the back of his head answered. He quickly gulped down his brandy with hopes that it would drown out the voice.

"I almost hate to say it…" Cora murmured, drawing his attention back. "But…do you think we should ask your mother for her thoughts on the matter?"

He shuddered at her suggestion. "Lord in heaven. I know exactly what she'll say..."

* * *

"Of course she needs to marry!" Violet Crawley thundered, banging her cane for good measure on the ground. "How can you even suggest otherwise?"

Cora sighed and tried her best not to roll her eyes. "I wasn't suggesting that she never marry, just…simply…perhaps it's better that we not _push_ her into anything for the moment. I mean her oldest sister did just marry—"

"Cora, my dear, you are far too soft-hearted," Violet stated, before pursing her lips and looking up at her son. "That goes for you as well. You should have gone after Larry Grey and demanded that Sybil apologize, before making sure he stayed for tea and dinner!"

"Mama, if you think I can 'demand' _anything_ from Sybil…" he rubbed the bridge of his nose again. He honestly wasn't sure which headache was worse.

Violet shook her head in annoyance. "You've spoiled her, that's what. Why, I still remember her waltzing into this very room in that ridiculous outfit!" she shuddered at the memory of seeing her youngest granddaughter in trousers, like something out of the _Arabian Nights_. "And then the nursing—"

"Now that's not fair," Cora interrupted. "She was a wonderful nurse, and may I remind you, Mama, that it was _you_ that encouraged her to pursue it when _I_ had reservations!"

Violet huffed. "Yes, well, I thought as soon as the War was over, that would be the end of that," she gripped her cane as she looked around the drawing room, remembering all the officers that once occupied it for two years. "And I certainly never thought she would bring her nursing to Downton."

Cora rolled her eyes and decided to keep her lips sealed on the matter so as to avoid any further arguments.

Violet looked most perplexed and lifted her eyes once again to her son. "_Why_ is it that Sybil rejects to the idea of marriage?" A sudden panic seemed to sweep across her face. "Oh gracious, she's not…" she quickly lowered her voice, in case any servants were nearby. "She's not like that cousin of yours, the one who never married?"

Robert felt his face burn at what his mother was suggesting. "No, Mama, I do not think Sybil is like Cousin Beatrice."

"I only ask because she has that rather unusual relationship with that red-headed housemaid—"

"Yes, thank you Mama, but no," he groaned, his head throbbing even more.

"I think Sybil simply wants to live a different life than the ones her sisters have," Cora tried to explain, coming to her husband's rescue as she saw him pinch his nose.

"Oh really," Violet shook her head in disapproval. "She had that opportunity, you indulged her; she served as a nurse during the War, but the War is now over, and now it is time for things to go back to normal, including getting Sybil settled!"

"Settled to whom, Mama?" Robert asked, feeling like they were going in endless circles.

Cora decided to take this moment to voice an idea she had been having, after suggesting it the previous night. "Perhaps…perhaps Matthew could introduce her to a friend from his firm in Manchester—"

"WHAT?" Violet gasped, staring at her daughter-in-law in complete shock and horror for even suggesting such a thing. "Marry a _solicitor_?"

"Matthew is a solicitor," Cora argued.

"And the future Earl of Grantham," Violet added. "_That_ by far outweighs the other," she shook her head, still shocked and dismayed by the very idea. "Things certainly aren't as bad as all that."

"Then what do you suggest, Mama?" Robert asked, truly wishing this conversation would come to an end, and certainly before Sybil reentered the house. The Strallans were visiting, and Sybil was last seen once again in the garden, only this time she was entertaining her niece, company that his daughter would welcome a great deal more than Larry Grey. "Or rather…_who_ do you suggest?"

Violet looked to be in deep contemplation, as if weighing the possibilities that were out there. She opened her mouth as if to make a suggestion, but was stopped short when her grandson-in-law (which was rather amusing, considering that he was roughly the same age as her son) entered the drawing room, looking in need of refreshment.

"Ah, Anthony!" Cora greeted warmly. "Do come and join us."

"Thank you, Lady Grantham!" he smiled, taking a seat nearby. "Elizabeth wanted to see the horses, so Edith and Sybil have taken her to the stables. Hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Of course not," Cora sweetly replied. "Tea? Or perhaps some lemonade?"

"Lemonade should hit the spot," he said, looking relieved at the thought. "Not as young as I used to be," he sighed. "It's a bit hard to keep up with a two year-old."

Cora smiled with fond remembrance. Violet said nothing and simply resorted to pursing her lips and staring off into the distance.

While Cora expertly led the conversation, while Robert retreated to his desk, deciding to make himself look busy over the same paperwork his estate manager had given him the previous day. However, his mother quickly took notice of his frown as he read a report, and decided to make the matter something that the entire room should be aware of. "What is that that you have there?"

Robert glanced up, his face reddening slightly at the question. "Just a report from my estate manager," he explained.

"A good report or a bad one?"

Robert closed his eyes and summoned his patience before continuing. "In all fairness and truth, it's neither," he explained. "Now that spring is here, it's time to examine the tenant houses and see to any repairs or modernizations that need to be made, not to mention making way for summer harvest—"

"Ah, anything I can be of help with?" Sir Anthony asked, sitting up a little straighter. Sir Anthony Strallan had proved to be a very good match for the Crawley family in more ways than one. Not only did he adore Edith and make her very happy, but the man was a so-called expert in modern farm equipment and took great pleasure in studying agriculture. Indeed, Loxley was thriving, while other estates struggled. Of course, Loxley was quite smaller compared to Downton, but still, Sir Anthony's expertise did come in handy.

Robert opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off completely by a rather loud gasp coming from his mother. "Good God, Mama are you alright?"

Violet's hand had flown to her chest, and everyone in the room looked ready to leap to attention, be that call for Carson, ring for a doctor, or catch her from fainting off the settee where she sat. But instead, Violet's eyes turned directly to her grandson-in-law and asked, "Sir Anthony, what was the name of that friend of yours?"

"Friend, Lady Grantham?" he asked, looking confused.

"Yes, I believe you said the two of you had once served together in the army; he married the Dunn-Sainny's only daughter. Oh what was his name…Belmont? Belton?"

"Do you mean Joseph? Sir Joseph Bellasis?"

"Yes, that's the name; Bellasis—he's a baronet, isn't he?" She glanced then at both Cora and Robert. "Well that's better than a solicitor."

Sir Anthony frowned in confusion. "I beg your pardon, Lady Grantham?"

"Never mind," Violet dismissed. "Doesn't he have a son?"

Robert suddenly realized what his mother was up to. "Mama—"

But Violet cut him off by lifting her hand to silence him, her attentions still focused on her grandson-in-law. "Um…yes, actually," Sir Anthony continued, although he looked thoroughly confused. "Tom, I believe; I mean, I've never met the chap, but—"

A trivial matter as far as Violet was concerned. "Yes, I think I remember hearing about how he managed to save his father's estate, did he not?"

Sir Anthony's brow furrowed. "Well, Joseph's estate, which is roughly the same size as Loxley," he began. "Had fallen on hard times during the War, but his son worked closely with their estate manager and by modernizing some of their—"

"Ah, you see? Perfect," Violet turned back to Robert.

Robert stared at his mother in absolute confusion. "Perfect?"

"Yes, of course!" Violet said, shaking her head at her son's inability to see the greater picture at hand. "Invite Mr. Bellasis to come and stay, have him go over this work with your estate manager, see what he can do to help with Downton's situation."

"Oh, that's an excellent idea!" Sir Anthony grinned, clearly missing the Dowager Countess' true motive.

"Yes, it is," Violet smiled. "And why don't you write to them, Sir Anthony, since you know the family; a fortnight should do the trick, don't you think so Robert? Cora?"

Both Robert and Cora exchanged looks, both unsure entirely what the Dowager Countess was up to, but they little doubt that it had anything to do with "modernization" for managing the estate.

"Yes, a fortnight should be plenty of time," Violet murmured to herself.

"I shall write to him this afternoon then," Sir Anthony smiled, completely ignorant to the tension between the other three. It was only after the Strallans had left, to take little Elizabeth home for a mid-afternoon nap, that the conversation was picked up again.

"Alright Mama, what was that _really_ about?" Robert asked, shutting the drawing room door and praying Sybil would not enter anytime soon.

"The Bellasis' are a fine family," Violet began.

Cora couldn't help but butt in. "Even if he's _only_ a baronet?"

Violet gave her a look. "As I said earlier, much better than a solicitor; besides, this friend of Sir Anthony's married a Dunn-Sainny, one of the noblest families in Ireland. I shared my debut season with Lady Dunn-Sainny."

"Alright, so clearly you have this Tom Bellasis in mind for Sybil," Robert sighed, cutting to the chase. "But what makes you think Sybil will 'accept' him any more so than Larry Grey?"

"We _make_ her accept him," Violet huffed.

Robert couldn't help but laugh at that. "You clearly don't know your own granddaughter!"

But Violet was determined. "If I can convince Mary to accept Matthew, despite all those protests she gave upon first meeting him, then I think I can persuade Sybil."

"Good luck," Robert muttered, feeling the urgent need for another brandy.

"But we don't know anything about him!" Cora spoke up, feeling the desperate need to have some say in her daughter's future happiness. "At least we knew the Greys, but this Tom Bellasis is a virtual stranger to us!"

"No he's not, Sir Anthony knows him," Violet dismissed. "Or at least he knows his father, which is practically the same," she waved her hand in the air. "And what I have heard amongst my circle of friends is that Mr. Bellasis is well-educated, clever, handsome, no older than Larry Grey, and above all, most importantly…_unmarried!"_

Robert shook his head. "Sybil will not go for it, she will put up a fight the second he walks in the door; the second his motor comes down the drive!

"Which is why you will say nothing to her!"

"Say nothing to her…?" Robert was truly flabbergasted. "So this strange man arrives at on my doorstep and stays in my house for a fortnight, and I'm to say nothing to my daughter?"

"Weren't you listening earlier when I was talking to Sir Anthony?" Violet sighed. "The man has done great things in helping manage his father's estate—the estate he will one day inherit! It was on the brink of ruin, and he managed to help save it! _That_ is why he has been invited here, and as far as Sybil is concerned, that's all she needs to know!"

Robert looked over at his wife to see what she made of this entire scheme, but he was surprised to see that Cora was starting to nod her head…as if she agreed with his mother. She caught his eye and gave a small smile. "Well…I suppose we're no worse for ware, if Sybil and Mr. Bellasis don't hit it off," she reasoned. "And you really could use some help with the estate managing, you said so yourself, Robert."

Robert groaned. "This is all very well and good for you both to sit there and make these plans, but if they backfire and Sybil finds out the true motive behind this whole plot, _I_ am going to be the one who gets all the blame."

Cora smiled with sympathy. "Perhaps it won't be so bad? After all…maybe we've just been approaching this thing the wrong way? Sybil has always struck me as the sort that would be motivated by love when it comes to marriage. Perhaps by not pushing her…and letting things take their course…?"

Robert couldn't deny there was some truth to Cora's statement.

Violet snorted. "This younger generation," she muttered.

* * *

"Post for you, milord," the butler announced, lowering a tray to Sir Joseph who was sitting and having breakfast. He thanked the butler and placed the pile of letters down on the table to be examined later.

"Good morning, Kinsley" greeted a sweet voice with a soft Irish lilt. Sir Joseph smiled and turned to look at his wife as she entered the breakfast room and began to help herself.

"Have I told you how lovely it is to have your presence at breakfast my dear?" he grinned, as she eventually made her way to the table.

"Well, with such company as yours, my darling," she smiled with a blush, thanking the butler as he helped her with her chair. Lady Nora glanced at the small pile of mail that sat on the table, but said nothing. "Where's Tom?"

"He awoke before breakfast," Sir Joseph explained, his eyes now focused on his newspaper. "He was concerned about the roofs to the new tenant cottages after last night's storm; I'm sure he'll be back soon."

She smiled and began to eat, her eyes once again falling on the pile of letters. "That handwriting looks familiar…" she murmured, motioning her fork at the letter on top of the pile.

Sir Joseph glanced at it and set his newspaper aside. "You're right," he murmured, picking it up and examining it closely. "Well no wonder! It's from Anthony!"

"Anthony?" she asked, her brow furrowing momentarily. "Oh! Your friend, Sir Anthony Strallan?"

Sir Joseph nodded. "Yes, I wonder to what he writes to tell us?"

"It's a shame we were unable to attend his wedding," Lady Nora sighed.

"I know, but we had already made our plans to visit Ireland that summer." He broke the seal on the envelope and opened it, discovering not one, but two letters! "Well, that's interesting…"

"What is, darling?"

"Well, there's a second letter in here, and it's addressed to…Tom."

"What's addressed to me?"

Both Sir Joseph and Lady Nora turned and smiled at the sight of their son as he entered the room, thanking Kinsley for the plate. He soon sat down at the table, next to his father and opposite his mother, who couldn't help but smile with such love and fondness as she gazed at him. My, how handsome he looked, how strong he had grown! And yet, if she closed her eyes, she could still see that little boy, that tiny baby…

"Do you remember Sir Anthony Strallan? I know it's been years since you crossed paths with him…perhaps since before you went to university—"

"Vaguely," Tom answered. "Why, is everything alright?"

"Well, he wrote to us," Sir Joseph explained. "But in his letter addressed to your mother and myself, he also included one for you."

Tom frowned and took the extra letter, which was also sealed, and with curious fingers, broke the seal to read what it said.

A moment of silence passed as he scanned the letter's content, both his parents watching him from across the table, looking most eager with each passing second to know what it was that Sir Anthony Strallan had to say.

Tom folded the letter when he had finished reading it, and looked up at his parents, a light of amusement in his blue eyes. "It appears I've been invited to Downton Abbey."


	4. Chapter 4

_You guys have NO IDEA how much fun this story is in the sense of plotting and mapping out how all the puzzle pieces will eventually fall into place. I can see how this story is going to make writing my other stories difficult; argh! But as far as problems go, that's not an awful one ;o) _

_Things are continuing to move along nicely! This chapter begins where the last one left off, later that evening, and then jumps ahead a few days. It will all make sense (hopefully!) Also, a few familiar faces that we know and love who work downstairs at Downton you will find *do not* work at Downton about elsewhere. More will be revealed, but just go with it; this is an AU after all :oP_

_Thanks again for all the follows and reviews! I'm glad people are enjoying this tale which in some ways started out as a funny crackfic idea, but I can see growing into what I hope will be a fun Sybil/Tom story...with double the Bransons ;o) ENJOY!_

* * *

_Chapter Four_

Sir Joseph sighed as he shut the door of his dressing room and entered the bedchamber, smiling as he greeted his wife who was already in bed, sitting up and reading. Lady Nora quickly put her book down and looked up at her husband, her eyes alight with question. "Well?"

Sir Joseph removed his dressing gown and slippers, before turning towards the bed and climbing in. "Well, he's written back," he answered. "Both to Anthony and Lord Grantham; he hopes to travel next Wednesday, if that meets with Lord Grantham's approval."

Lady Nora nodded her head, still clearly contemplating everything this invitation that her son had received from the Earl of Grantham. "And…how long do they wish for Tom to stay?"

"A fortnight," Sir Joseph explained.

His wife nodded again, but said nothing this time. It was clear she was thinking, though; her husband could tell that something was on her mind by the way her brow was furrowed. "What is it, my dear? Something is clearly troubling you…"

"No, no, not _troubling_ me, just…" she sighed and looked at him. "Do you really think that's all Lord Grantham wants? For Tom to simply come and help his estate manager in making improvements?"

Sir Joseph looked a little confused by his wife's question. "I can't imagine what other reason there would be. I mean, based on what Anthony said in his letter, it does sound as if Downton Abbey is suffering from some of the same problems that Grassley had, and Tom helped tremendously in improving things—"

"Ah, see my dear? Both you and Sir Anthony are thinking like 'men', and therefore lack the insight into seeing past the surface."

Sir Joseph couldn't help but chuckle at his wife's words. "Well, then please enlighten me."

Lady Nora couldn't help but smile as she settled back against her pillows. "As soon as Tom told us that he had been invited to Downton Abbey, I immediately asked myself what it was that I knew about the place. Well, I know it's the seat for the Earl of Grantham, and I know that his name is Robert Crawley."

"Who also happens to be Anthony's father-in-law," Sir Joseph added.

"Yes, quite so. But there's more, as well. My mother had her debut the same year as the woman who is now the Dowager Countess of Grantham. In fact, I do believe that Lady Grantham visited my mother once, when I was a very small child—but that hardly matters," she waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway, this afternoon I went into the library and had a look through _Burke's_, and discovered that the present earl has no son."

Sir Joseph nodded his head. "Yes, I believe I remember Anthony mentioning this to me once; the man who was to be Lord Grantham's heir perished on the Titanic. And the man who is his heir now is a distant cousin, a middle class solicitor from Manchester!" he chuckled, imagining how that must have been a bit of a shock for everyone. "And…I also believe that he, meaning Lord Grantham's heir, married his eldest daughter."

Lady Nora nodded. "Yes, exactly. Lord Grantham has three daughters, the elder two both married and the youngest…" her voice trailed off, waiting to see if her husband had caught on with what she was suggesting.

Sir Joseph frowned. "Are you suggesting that Lord Grantham invited our son to Downton Abbey for the purposes of persuading him to marry his youngest daughter?"

Lady Nora lifted her nose somewhat haughtily into the air. "Oh I'm not suggesting that _Lord Grantham_ specifically invited our son for this purpose, but I would not put it past his wife, or more likely, _his mother_, to be hoping that such a match takes place."

Sir Joseph burst out laughing then, surprising his wife by his reaction. "Is this _really_ what women think about?" he asked, still chuckling. "Is everything a scheme to get one's son or daughter married?"

Lady Nora folded her arms across her chest, giving her husband a stern look, not appreciating his somewhat mocking tone. "I'm glad you find it so amusing, but mark my words, Joseph; while I'm not doubting that there may very well be some estate issues that Lord Grantham would like Tom's help with, do not be surprised if our son returns within a fortnight with a little announcement of his own!"

Sir Joseph sighed and shook his head. "I don't even know the poor girl, and I feel sorry for her."

Lady Nora's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Sir Joseph settled back against his pillows and folded his hands across his chest. "Well, if you are correct and this really is some elaborate scheme with hopes of ensnaring Tom for the youngest Crawley girl, then I am afraid the Dowager Countess of Grantham is in for a bit of disappointment."

"Oh?"

He nodded. "I am convinced, my dear, that it will take nothing but the deepest love to convince our son into matrimony."

Lady Nora looked at her husband, lifting a delicate brow at these words. "And you think that impossible?"

He shook his head. "Of course not; but I do not think he will respond well if he learns that was the hope and purpose of his invitation. Tom is twenty-eight years old, and _still_ remains unmarried. His interests have always been more in managing, modernizing, and improving the estate; he despises the London season and has always preferred the country to town life. And while I'm not saying it isn't possible that he and Lord Grantham's youngest form an attachment, I do think it is highly improbable." He sighed and reached for his wife's hand. "Love at first sight is a very rare thing indeed."

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it. "Didn't you fall in love with me at first sight?" she asked with a smile.

Sir Joseph smiled back, moving an arm around his wife's shoulders and gathering her close. "Well how could I not? I still remember you entering that ballroom; a vision in white, truly dazzling to behold."

"Yes, I recall how you kept asking for the next dance, rudely cutting in and taking me away from my poor partners who had spent all evening trying to find a place on my dance card."

"You didn't seem to mind," he chuckled, kissing her brow. She smiled up at him and leaned up, giving him a proper kiss on his lips, before turning off the lamp on the bedside table. As they settled down beneath the blankets, waiting for sleep to carry them off, their minds began to wander as they often did, to the young man who slept a few doors down, the young man whom they loved with all their hearts and who bore their name and whom they called "son". A young man who, in perhaps another life, may have come to them and do all the work he had done for Grassley but in an entirely different capacity, as Grassley's estate manager, rather than the man he was.

It was thoughts like these that caused both Sir Joseph and Lady Nora Bellasis to reach for one another and grip their hands.

"Joseph," she whispered in the dark. "Do you…do you ever wonder—?"

"Yes," he answered, squeezing her hand. Yes, almost every night, he wondered about what had become of the other boy, the one who shared their son's face, but who lived a very different life.

* * *

If the pounding on the door didn't wake her, the soreness in her shoulders would have. Sarah groaned, rolling over onto her stomach, burying her face in the flat feather-filled cloth that was her pillow, wishing, not for the first time, that a day would come when she could wake up at whatever time she wanted to wake up, not because she had to.

But today was not that day. And so with her muscles aching and cracking, she threw her quilt off and rose from the bed, her feet searching for the wool slippers on the floor. She yawned and stretched, groaning as more muscles and bones cracked. She glanced over at the bed on the opposite end of the room, rolling her eyes as its occupant had as of yet to rise.

_I should just let her face the consequences_, she thought to herself. _I highly doubt she would extend the same courtesy to me if she had the chance._ Still, Sarah had been taught long ago that those that do good will have good reflected back upon them. She was still waiting for that goodness to be reflected back to her after nearly twenty-three years, but still, she tried. Besides, if she didn't go out of her way to help her sleepy roommate, she knew that she would pay for it later, as soon as her roommate had the opportunity to extract revenge.

"Edna…" she whispered.

No response.

Sarah sighed and quietly walked over to Edna's bed, the blonde maid sleeping very soundly, her mouth hanging open just slightly in a rather unladylike fashion. Sarah bit her lip to keep from giggling, and then reached down to give the other woman's shoulder a light shake. "Edna, it's six o'clock!"

"Go away!" Edna groaned, turning her face over into her pillow, just as Sarah had first done after Daisy's loud knocking.

Sarah rolled her eyes, once again weighing the consequences of facing Mrs. Patmore's wrath for being late to the kitchens, or later facing Edna's for not waking her.

"Come on, Edna, we have less than twenty-minutes! Mrs. Patmore will be waiting—"

"Alright, ALRIGHT!" Edna muttered, pushing Sarah's hand away from her shoulder and rising and looking at the brunette with vengeful eyes for forcing her out of bed.

Sarah forced a small smile, and then turned away from her roommate, before walking over to the basin and pitcher, quickly splashing water on her face with hopes to washing any traces of sleep away. She quietly went about the task of getting ready as Edna now used the basin, removing her nightgown and putting on her old corset (Lord how she hated the things! She had seen catalogues advertising this undergarment called a brassiere and wished she had the money for such a purchase), and then slipped on her uniform, a plain, pale green dress, followed by a full apron, and finally her black stockings and boots. She quickly took a comb to brush her hair, wincing as she drove it through the tangles that always matted at night when she slept, before finally pulling it back and with a few pins, securing it in a tight bun that was covered with a white cap.

"Right," she murmured, glancing at her reflection in the cracked looking glass that lay near the door. "Are you ready?"

Edna didn't say anything; she simply pushed her way past Sarah, walking out the door and not even bothering to hold it open for Sarah to follow. _Wonderful; it's going to be one _those_ days,_ Sarah thought to herself. The day she had arrived at the Grantham Arms, Edna Braithwaite had made it very clear that she did not like Sarah. Sarah wasn't entirely sure why that was; Edna never bothered to explain her reasons. But Sarah needed this job, especially since she didn't have a reference from Colton Park to rely on, and she was very much indebted to the kindness of Mrs. Miller's cousin, so if that meant having to put up with an ill-tempered housemaid, so be it.

"Ah, there you both are!" Mrs. Patmore's voice greeted them as they entered the inn's kitchens. "Well come on, get some food in your bellies so we can get to work!" she laid the porridge out on the table for them, before turning and going back to the sausages that were sizzling on the stove, filling the room with a mouth-watering aroma.

"Don't see why we can't have some sausages," Edna muttered, dipping her spoon into her porridge.

"Because they're for the guests upstairs, silly," Mrs. Patmore answered, rolling her eyes and then giving Sarah a little wink, before returning to her work. Sarah bit her lip to contain her smile, and quickly went about pouring herself a cup of tea. Yes, while she may have Edna against her, she at least had the inn's cook on her side.

"Where is that daft girl?" Mrs. Patmore muttered, looking out the kitchen window, trying to spot her one and only companion in the inn's busy kitchens.

"Here I am, Mrs. Patmore!" Daisy answered, as if having heard the cook's grumbling through the inn's very walls. She was carrying both a basket of fresh eggs and two crates with bottles of milk in her tiny hands. Sarah leapt up to help her before the tiny girl fell over from the heavy weight of everything she carried. Edna remained where she was, quietly sipping her tea.

"About bloody time," Mrs. Patmore muttered, taking the basket of eggs from the kitchen maid and placing them near the stove for when the time came to cook them. "I trust you weren't flirting with that boy again?"

Daisy paled at the cook's accusation. "What? No! No! Honestly, Mrs. Patmore, William and I were just talking—"

"Talk and flirt on your own good time, not when we have at least a dozen breakfasts to prepare," the cook growled with a stern look. "Now stir that porridge so it don't burn! I can't do everything myself!"

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore!" Daisy answered, doing as she was told. Sarah's heart went out to the kitchen maid. She knew that Mrs. Patmore's bark was worse than her bite, but still, there were moments when she wished the Grantham Arms cook took a little pity on the girl.

"Sarah, finish your breakfast," Mrs. Patmore ordered. "You'll be on your feet enough today, no sense in adding more to it now."

She nodded and sat back down, eating her porridge and drinking her tea.

"Mrs. Patmore," Edna began, turning her attention now to the cook. "Has Mr. Yardley given you an answer yet about giving me the day off when the fair comes around?"

The cook groaned. "Mr. Yardley is a bit busy, Edna, managing an inn. And it's not him who you need the permission from, but me."

Edna frowned at this. "Don't see why; Mr. Yardley is the one who pays me, and I don't work in the kitchens; I'm an upstairs maid—"

"You're certainly not winning yourself any extra points with that attitude!" the cook interrupted, giving Edna a stern look, one that shushed the blonde maid up right away, but not before giving a giant pout.

Mrs. Patmore sighed and then glanced at Sarah, offering her a kinder smile. "You, Sarah, do have permission to take Friday afternoon off to attend the Garden Show."

Sarah smiled at this, but her smile was short lived when Edna's eyes went wide and a look of fury quickly covered her face. "WHAT!?" she bellowed. "Why does SHE get the afternoon off?" Edna demanded. "I work TWICE as hard and have been here longer!"

"SARAH works very hard, helping in the kitchens with Daisy when her chores upstairs are finished, AND she asked for the afternoon off well over a month ago!" Mrs. Patmore bellowed back, not prepared to take any attitude from anyone, least of all Edna Braithwaite.

It was true; Sarah had gone to both Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Yardley the day she learned that the village had a special garden show. She loved gardening, especially roses. She always dreamed of one day having a cottage of her own with boxes of roses at each window.

Edna was still fuming at this news. "Well I want the afternoon off too!"

"Well you're not getting it!" Mrs. Patmore growled. "Not when Friday is only two days away, and certainly not after THAT childish display! Now, if you still want either me or Mr. Yardley to give you the day off when the fair comes to the village, then you best HOLD YOUR TONGUE!"

Edna glared back at the cook, and without another word, pushed herself away from the table, before turning on her heel and marching up the stairs to begin her chores. The sound of the kitchen door thundering shut caused everyone left in the kitchen to release a weary groan.

"I swear, Mr. Yardley is too good a man," the cook muttered. "I know it may sound harsh, but I will not weep any tears when the day comes and she leaves." Even Daisy nodded her head in agreement to this.

Sarah sighed and finished her porridge. "She was in a bad mood when I woke her up this morning—"

"She's always in a bad mood," Mrs. Patmore muttered. "And I can't imagine having to share a room with her the way you do."

It certainly seemed to be a miracle at times. "Perhaps I woke her from a pleasant dream?" Sarah suggested, trying to lighten the mood in the room. "Sometimes I lash out when I'm woken from a pleasant slumber."

Mrs. Patmore seemed to chuckle at this. "Dreaming about your country cottage?"

Sarah blushed but smiled, picking up both hers and Edna's porridge bowls and taking them over to the sink to be washed. In the short time she had come to work at the Grantham Arms, she did feel a kinship with both the cook and the kitchen maid, and had shared with them both about her dream for nice cottage, with rose garden for her to tend. Of course, lately, really ever since she came to the village of Downton, Sarah's dreams about her little cottage began to shift and change, and sometimes that cottage didn't look like a cottage…but a grand estate.

An estate like Downton Abbey.

Her eyes moved to the kitchen window, where she could see the majestic house, its spires rising up over the rooftops and trees of the village that shared its name. There was something about that house…she wasn't quite sure what it was, but…it truly, truly fascinated her.

"Mrs. Patmore," she murmured. "Do you know anyone who works at Downton?"

The cook's eyes widened at her words. "Downton? His Lordship's estate?"

The way she spoke the man's name was as if she were speaking of the King himself.

"William worked at Downton!" Daisy piped up, smiling broadly as she spoke the name of the farmer who delivered the milk and eggs to them every morning. "He was a footman there, before the War, he—"

"She wasn't asking you, was she?" Mrs. Patmore grumbled, causing the kitchen maid to quickly return to her work. "Anyway," Mrs. Patmore muttered, turning her attention back to Sarah. "I do know the cook there; Mrs. Bird. Before the War started, Downton used to have these grand garden parties, and sometimes they would need an extra pair of hands in the kitchen. Lord, it's amazing we didn't strangle each other when I look back and think about it; there's truth in that saying about 'too many cooks'," she chuckled. Her eyes softened slightly, but there was question in them. "Why do you ask? You're not thinking of handing in your notice to go and be a housemaid over there, surely?"

Sarah knew the cook was joking, and found herself laughing in response. "No, no, I was just curious; it just seems like such a grand place, I wondered what it was like on the inside."

"Well, you said the word right there: 'grand'," Mrs. Patmore declared. "But I can't imagine it's that different from that place you worked at before coming here, surely?"

Colton Park was nothing like Downton Abbey; at least that much could be said about the place from the outside. Yet Sarah wasn't sure why she was so interested in learning more about the place, other than it was the closest thing she could think of that she had seen that actually resembled a castle.

_It's just a house, _she told herself, forcing her eyes away from the kitchen window and the view it held of the majestic manor. _It's large and grand, but at the end of the day, it's just another house._

Except it wasn't. It was Downton Abbey.

* * *

"I just don't understand; why spend all this time _there?"_ Violet asked, looking at Cora in utter confusion. It was after dinner, and Robert, Cora, Sybil, and Violet were sitting in the drawing room. Cora had just been sharing Mary's latest letter; both she and Matthew had spent a fortnight in Paris, but had been spending the rest of their honeymoon in Manchester, staying in Matthew's former home. "I mean, what is there to do in Manchester?"

Sybil, who was sitting near her grandmother, practically spat her tea back into her cup in an effort not to laugh. "I don't know, Granny," she answered. "But indeed, it is a most excellent question; just what is there for a newlywed couple to do? How shall they entertain themselves?"

Both Robert and Cora gave their daughter a look of disapproval. Even Violet seemed to be aware as to what her youngest granddaughter was insinuating. "Vulgarity is no substitute for wit, my dear."

Sybil didn't look the least bit embarrassed. "You started it," she murmured softly into her tea cup.

Violet sighed and with the help of her cane, began to rise from where she sat, the others rising with her. "No, no, I'm perfectly fine," she reassured, her hands making a gesture for both Robert and Cora to sit down. "But I do think I shall be going; Sybil dear? Walk me out?"

Violet exchanged a knowing glance with her son, who did his best not to roll his eyes, but instead put on a smile and murmured "goodnight" to his mother, and waited until both she and Sybil had left the room, before going about the task of sharing with his wife a letter which he had received that day, and of course, which is mother already knew about.

"Mr. Bellasis replied to Sir Anthony's letter," he informed Cora.

She sat up a little straighter and her face did seem to light up at this news. "Oh?"

He nodded. "He accepts the invitation, 'only too glad to help if he is able'," he read, "And asks if next Wednesday is too soon for him to visit."

"Next Wednesday," Cora murmured to herself. "No, I think that shall be fine! Mary and Matthew will be returning next Wednesday as well!" she grinned. "Oh it will be nice seeing more faces at dinner again," she happily sighed.

Robert smiled at his wife's enthusiasm, but he was still a bit uncomfortable with this whole situation, mainly with the deceit they were purposefully using against both Mr. Bellasis and their daughter.

"Do you really think this is going to work?" he asked, not for the first time since his mother had made the suggestion.

Cora sighed and set down her own tea cup. "We'll never know unless we try, Robert. And besides, as I've said before, we're no worse off if nothing does come of it; at least he will be able to help in some capacity with the estate."

Robert sighed and nodded his head. While it was a bit hard to swallow, wounded pride and all that for his bad investments and the cost it had taken on Downton, he had always vowed that so long as he lived, he would do everything in his power to keep the estate efficient and running, and if that meant swallowing his pride and handing the reigns over to someone else who had a better understanding of these things, well then so be it. "At least Matthew will be back by then," Robert murmured. "Which will be good; I'd like for him to hear what Mr. Bellasis thinks on the estate matters."

Cora nodded. "Yes, and it will be good to have _both_ Mary and Edith here to perhaps…_persuade_…Sybil, and find out what she thinks of Mr. Bellasis."

"Careful, Cora," Robert advised. "Sybil has a nose for deduction, and will sniff out a plot if she suspects anything. Whatever you do, don't you or the girls push."

Now it was Cora's turn to roll her eyes. "Oh Robert, really; you think I'm not aware of that? However, I know my daughters, and I know that both Mary and Edith will be much more successful than either you or I in not only learning Sybil's opinion about the young gentleman, but also in getting her to perhaps _consider_ him—"

Cora stopped speaking the second she heard footsteps approaching the drawing room door. Sybil reentered the drawing room, putting on a smile as she once again took her seat. "Granny is off," she explained, and judging from the way she sat and looked, it seemed that she was completely unaware of the conversation that had just been taking place between her parents.

"Perhaps we should do likewise and make ready for bed now ourselves?" Cora suggested. "After all, tomorrow is a big day with the Garden Show."

Sybil smiled at the mention of this. "I told Edith that I would join her and Sir Anthony; Elizabeth is very excited as this will be her first time in going."

The three rose to leave, but not before Carson entered the room, looking apologetic for the late announcement he was about to deliver. "I do apologize, milord, but apparently this letter from Mr. Murray somehow ended up in the post for the Servant's Hall. I promise you it will not happen again," Carson reassured, looking rather embarrassed by the whole thing.

Robert smiled and took the offered letter the butler was holding. "That's quite alright, Carson, no harm done I'm sure," he reassured as he opened the letter.

Sybil turned her attentions now to the butler. "Carson, did Gwen receive any letters today?"

The butler looked confused by this question. "I don't believe so, milady."

Cora looked confused as well. "Why do you ask, darling?"

Sybil quickly shook her head. "Nothing, no reason, I um…I think I'll go up as you suggested, Mama. Goodnight!"

Cora smiled and kissed her daughter's cheek, murmuring her own goodnight wishes, before turning to her husband and wondering what it was about the letter he held that had his attention. "Well?"

"Hmm? Oh! Nothing of great consequence, just Murray telling me that he's found us a new chauffeur."

"Oh!" Cora smiled. "Well that will be good; although I must say, Robert, only because we are trying to economize, do you think it's an expense we can afford? _Two_ chauffeurs?"

Robert felt his cheeks grow warm at his wife's question. However he could not deny that it made sense; after all, they were forgoing the London season this year, and quite possibly the August garden party. "I understand what you mean, Cora, and I did think that after Taylor announced his wish to retire, that Pratt would be enough. However…" he made a face as he recalled all of the engine troubles that the Renault was having as of late, and how poor Pratt seemed completely overwhelmed (and quite possibly clueless) in how to manage them, along with his other duties. However, the man had served the family well during the War, and Robert didn't have the heart to let him go. "While I'm not saying that the new chauffeur won't have some driving duties, especially if one of us needs the motor while Pratt is driving the other, he's really coming to help with maintenance and upkeep, which is exactly what Murray assures me here; that he's found the right man for the job, somewhere up in Liverpool."

"And when shall we be expecting our new chauffeur?" Cora asked.

Robert scanned the rest of the letter. "Well, it appears Wednesday of next week will be a very busy day indeed."

* * *

_THE THICK PLOTTENS! :oP_


	5. Chapter 5

_THINGS ARE MOVING ALONG! You'll see what I mean. I'm going to dedicate this chapter to the amazing and artistic Angiemagz, who not only creates some BEAUTIFUL Sybil/Tom fanart, but who also made me a picture depicting a specific scene in this story, whose link I will post at the end (no spoilers!) Thank you again for reading and for all the lovely reviews! I'm glad people are enjoying this and hope you continue to as things continue to move forward!_

* * *

_Chapter Five_

On the morning of the village flower show, Sybil rose a bit earlier than normal. She had had a strange dream, one that involved looking into a mirror. It wasn't horrible, simply…odd.

She sighed and rose, seating herself on the bench at her vanity, gritting her teeth has she ran her brush through her tangled curls, and rang the bell for assistance, although in truth she didn't really need assistance, she simply wanted to talk to her friend. A smile spread across her face, as she recognized the knock on her door, and she turned and grinned at the red-haired housemaid who had entered.

"Good morning, Gwen!" she greeted warmly.

Gwen smiled, shutting the door behind her. "Good morning, milady," she replied with a smile. "You're up early this morning; I don't even think his Lordship is awake yet."

Sybil bit her lip, feeling a little guilty. "I hope I didn't pull you away from your breakfast too soon?"

Gwen shook her head. "It's alright, I don't mind. One can only eat porridge so many times, besides…" she took a deep breath and it was then that Sybil realized that Gwen was holding something behind her back. "_This_ came today…"

A gasp escaped Sybil's lips as she stared at the envelope in the housemaid's hands. "Oh Gwen! Is it…is it…?"

"I don't know!" Gwen helplessly exclaimed. "I'm too nervous to open it! Every time I bring my fingers to the seal, they start shaking, see?" she held up her hand and Sybil couldn't help but giggle, before reaching out and grasping her friend's hand.

"We'll open it together," she promised, smiling and holding the envelope for Gwen, urging her to break the seal, despite her trembling fingers.

Sybil watched Gwen's face, trying to be the picture of calmness and confidence, even though on the inside, her heart was pounding rapidly in both nervousness and anticipation. The two of them had always been close; Sybil didn't even see Gwen as a housemaid, but often thought and spoke of the redhead as a dear friend. During the War, while Sybil volunteered her time as a nurse and shared stories with her friend, she began to learn that Gwen had dreams of her own as well, dreams of working in a job beyond service. Apparently, Sybil's decision to pursue her desire for hard work and a "real job", had inspired Gwen to pursue her own dream of becoming a secretary. She started to take courses through the mail; she even purchased a typewriter! Sybil was both amazed and impressed with how passionately Gwen was striving to make her dream come true. And now that the War was over, and her time as a nurse had finally come to an end, Sybil was most insistent on helping her friend. After all, one of them should be able to live their dream…

"Alright…" Gwen took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her lip as she finally forced her fingers to break the seal.

"Bravo!" Sybil grinned, giggling as Gwen blushed and laughed at her own anxiety.

"If only that were the hardest part," Gwen sighed, looking down at the opened envelope nervously.

"You can do this," Sybil encouraged, smiling at her and holding the envelope out. It was tempting to remove the letter herself, and read its contents, but she resisted, as difficult as that was. This was Gwen's dream and Gwen's letter; she needed to be the one to face it first.

Gwen took another deep breath, nodded her head in an effort to look confident, and then tugged the paper from the envelope out, quickly opening it and forcing herself to scan and read its contents, telling herself over and over not to look disappointed, not to look disappointed…

Sybil watched breathlessly. She didn't dare move, she didn't dare blink! Her eyes were fixed on the housemaid, her heart beating so loudly it was drowning out everything else! _Oh please_, she kept praying over and over. _Please, please, please…_

Gwen lifted her eyes, and Sybil held her breath. She couldn't tell what her expression meant! Was it good news? Bad? What did the letter say!?

"…They…they want to see me…"

Sybil blinked several times, Gwen's words slowly registering. "An interview?"

Gwen could only nod, lifting her eyes finally to meet Sybil's, the weight and truth of the letter finally washing over them…and the two of them laughing, before throwing their arms around each other and hugging tightly.

"Oh Gwen, that's wonderful!" Sybil laughed, feeling such joy for her friend. Gwen had been working so hard, and to finally receive such a letter after all the other times she had answered advertisements, but received no such reply...

"Your reference is what's done it!" Gwen grinned, blushing and giggling as she gazed down at the precious letter that she clutched tightly in her hands. "All those other times no one wanted me, but now, thanks to you, milady—"

"You would have found your way without my help, I am sure," Sybil insisted, not wanting to steal any of Gwen's thunder. This was her achievement and hers alone. "Oh gracious, when is the interview?"

Gwen laughed, realizing that in the midst of their celebration she hadn't taken the chance to notice. "A week from this upcoming Monday," she read.

Sybil frowned. "That's so far away!"

But Gwen shook her head. "No, I'm glad it's that far away! I don't think I would be ready to face them if it were this Monday!" She laughed at herself, but Sybil noticed how she quickly began to look nervous again. "Oh goodness, maybe you're right? How will I manage to focus on any of my work? I'll be a ball of nerves the entire time leading up to it!"

Sybil squeezed Gwen's hands as a sign of assurance. "You'll be fine," she told her. "You'll be fine and we'll carefully plan everything."

Gwen smiled and returned Sybil's squeeze, before finally forcing herself to tuck the letter back into her apron pocket. She then proceeded to help Sybil dress; although in truth Sybil didn't need the assistance as much as she had once, before the War. Her time as a nurse had taught her how to dress and care for herself, however her nurse's uniform was a great deal simpler than some of the dresses she had hanging in her wardrobe. Normally, Sybil opted to wear simple blouses and skirts, things that she could continue to put on and take off by herself. However today was the village flower show and she knew that people would be expecting "the Crawleys to be looking their best", or so her grandmother had emphasized over and over the previous night.

"I never had a chance to ask," Gwen spoke while tugging on the laces to Sybil's corset. Sybil hated the garment with a passion, and kept praying that Carson would deliver an announcement any day from Madame Swan's in Ripon, that a special package had arrived from London and was waiting for her to retrieve it.

"How did your meeting with Mr. Grey go?"

Sybil had been leaning her forehead against her bedpost, her hands gripping it as she often did whenever Anna or Gwen were helping her with her laces. But her head snapped up at the housemaid's question, and the first sound that passed through her lips was an audible groan of disdain.

"That well?" Gwen teased.

Sybil couldn't help but laugh at her friend's remark. Gwen knew better than anyone Sybil's thoughts and feelings about these so-called "gentlemen callers" her parents and grandmother were insisting that she meet.

"He is handsome, though…" Gwen murmured as she tightened the laces.

"Oh yes," Sybil muttered. "And very rude, and arrogant, and conceited—"

"Suppose that takes away some of his charm," Gwen sighed. The two burst into giggles then.

"Yes, I should say it does," Sybil sighed herself, slipping her arms through her slip before proceeding to put on her favorite summer dress, one that she had owned since before the War, but that she was trying to wear out. "Oh honestly, Gwen, I don't know what they were thinking! Outside of the fact that our families know each other, we have absolutely nothing in common!"

Gwen bit her lip, knowing her friend quite well. "Did the topic of politics even come up?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "As if it needed to be; Mr. Grey made it quite clear where he leaned on the matters of women holding office or having the vote, when he muttered something about his expectations that the future Mrs. Grey would cater to his every need and whim without him even having to say a word, just with a lift of his finger!"

Gwen made a face. "Did he really say that?"

Sybil groaned and nodded her head. "That was the straw that broke the camel's back, where I was concerned. But even before then, he doesn't like to read so there's no point in talking about books, he prefers to spend all of his time hunting, shooting, or playing cards—OH!" she turned then to look up at her friend, remembering a most crucial detail. "He called my nursing 'adorable'."

Gwen frowned. "Adorable?" she repeated. "What…what does that even mean?"

"It means he thinks I'm a child, playing 'nurse', rather than an actual nurse!" she fumed. "Honestly…what were Mama and Papa thinking?"

Gwen gave Sybil a look of sympathy, before proceeding to finish helping with the buttons on the back of her dress. "Well, I suppose I can assure Mrs. Bird that she doesn't need to start making plans for the wedding breakfast."

Sybil groaned and rolled her eyes. "Oh Lord, is that all everyone is talking about downstairs?"

Gwen gave her another sympathetic smile, before bursting into giggles. "Actually, everyone's talking about how he left here soaked head to toe!"

Sybil couldn't help but join her friend in laughter. "Yes, that was rather amusing," she admitted, smiling at the memory. It was the only thing about the entire wasted afternoon that gave her a smile.

"Is it true he tried to kiss you?" Gwen asked, her voice low and hushed. She had heard some rumors in the Servant's Hall, but no one knew for certain.

Sybil let out another weary sigh, a look of disgust coloring her face at the memory of Larry Grey, seizing her hands, mumbling something about how she would make him a most suitable wife, before attempting to lean in and place his horrible lips upon hers. Sybil had never been kissed before, and she would rather go to her grave having never experienced a kiss at all, than having Larry Grey be her first! "I'm afraid so," Sybil groaned in answer to Gwen's question. But her smile soon returned as she recalled how she quickly moved out of the way, her hands freeing themselves from Larry's grip, and before he even realized what was happening, he was tumbling forward, a loud splash going every which way.

Yes, watching him try to get up out of water, his suit ruined, his "perfectly combed hair", wet and dripping and going every which way, muttering every sort of ungentlemanly curse one could imagine (and some, one couldn't)—yes, that had indeed been the best part of her afternoon with Larry Grey.

"Ah well!" Gwen sighed, trying to sound disappointed, when in truth she knew Lady Sybil very well, and knew that disappointment was the last thing she was feeling about the matter. "So Mr. Grey isn't the one."

Sybil gave a small smile to this, but it faded into a look of contemplation and sadness. "I…I'm not sure there is a 'one' for me, Gwen."

"Milady?"

Sybil turned to face her friend and looked deeply into the housemaid's eyes. "Do you think about marriage, Gwen? Do you want to get married some day?"

Gwen blushed at Sybil's questions and looked down at her feet. "Need to find a beau first," she mumbled.

"But suppose you did?" Sybil went on. "Suppose you fall in love with a handsome clerk at whatever office you find yourself working as a secretary for?" She smiled at the blush and giggle that Gwen gave. "Is it something you think about, I mean? Marriage? Have you always believed that one day…you would marry?"

Gwen fidgeted slightly, looking a bit confused. "I…I'm not sure, milady," she answered honestly. "The truth is, it's very hard for us, housemaids I mean, in our position to find beaus, let alone find the time to go courting," she sighed. "Besides, it's frowned upon to have a beau while working."

Sybil found herself frowning at this information. "But then…how can a housemaid ever hope to marry if she so wishes?"

"Exactly!" Gwen answered, trying her best to keep her voice low should the prying ears of another try to overhear their conversation. "I said the same thing to Anna once—of course she doesn't have to worry."

Yes, it was universal knowledge that the head housemaid and her father's valet were more than simply courting; it was believed that they were also engaged!

"But…" Gwen went on, after a moment's pause to think about what Sybil had asked. "I suppose…I suppose it would be nice, having a cottage of one's own, sharing it with a husband, building a life together..." she murmured, blushing and smiling at the picture her words created.

Sybil wanted to smile, she wanted to blush and feel what Gwen was feeling. Or perhaps have that hope that someday the future she yearned for would come to pass. But things seemed bleak, at least on that account.

"I'm sure you'll find someone, milady," Gwen murmured, trying to sound positive when she noticed Sybil's sad expression.

But Sybil shook her head. "Oh Gwen, in all honesty, I think I would be perfectly happy, living the rest of my life as a 'dreaded spinster'," she laughed, more because she knew how her grandmother would gasp in horror at her words. "Besides, it would take a very specific type of man to lure me into matrimony, I think. And I highly doubt he exists."

Gwen smiled softly at her friend. "Oh I don't know about that, milady," she murmured, trying to sound hopeful. "And you don't need a 'very specific type'; just someone who is the opposite of Mr. Grey."

* * *

Sarah didn't often have opportunities to wear her fine burgundy hat, the only token that she still had that once belonged to her dear mother, but the Downton Flower Show seemed to be the perfect place, and so she stood in front of the looking glass in the cramped room she shared with Edna, adjusting it just so before finding that satisfactory angle, and with a smile, skipped down the stairs to the kitchens to say a quick goodbye to Daisy and Mrs. Patmore.

Thankfully, both she and Edna had avoided one another that day, which was a blessing since the blonde maid was in a sour mood due to Sarah having the afternoon off, while she had to continue working. At first Sarah felt a little guilty that she was having this opportunity to go out and enjoy herself on a lovely Friday afternoon, while others had to stay behind and work, but Mrs. Patmore had shushed her at breakfast, telling her not to be so foolish and to not allow Edna to manipulate her feelings.

_ It's a simple flower show,_ she told herself over and over. _You're going because both Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Yardley believe you've earned it. And it's just for the afternoon; you have nothing to feel guilty over. You deserve this, especially when you consider all that you had to put up with back at Colton Park. It's a simple flower show, and you're going because you love gardening, plain and simple._

"Ah, off are you now?" Mrs. Patmore asked, lifting her head from the dough she was kneading to see Sarah enter the kitchen.

Sarah blushed but smiled and nodded her head. "Yes, do you think I will do?" she asked, smiling as she did a little turn. Her plaid jacket was not the finest of coats, but it was the best one she had and knowing that there was the likelihood that the Earl and Countess of Grantham would be there, she didn't want to look too shabby.

"You look lovely, my dear," Mrs. Patmore assured with a kind smile. "Go and have a good time!"

"If you see William, will you tell him I said 'hello'?" Daisy asked from her corner of the kitchen, a sweet smile and bright blush spreading across her face as she made her request.

Mrs. Patmore rolled her eyes. "Is she to play matchmaker for you now?" the cook muttered under her breath. "Never mind Daisy, Sarah; you go and have fun! Just make sure you come back with a good story to share! It will brighten our supper conversation after so many evenings of the same old lark of 'and how was your day of cooking and cleaning?'"

Sarah couldn't help but laugh, and quickly nodded her head. "I'll come back with all sorts of stories, including who the winner was and the speech he or she made!"

"Ugh, don't bother," Mrs. Patmore groaned. "It's the same every year; her Ladyship, the Dowager Countess, always takes home the prize! Just once, it would be nice to see someone else get it," she sighed and shook her head, before going back to kneading the dough on the table.

Sarah smiled and murmured one last goodbye, also giving Daisy a little wink, should she spy the young handsome farmer who always delivered their milk and eggs every morning, before turning and heading out into the sunny spring afternoon of Downton Village.

As she walked along the streets to the place where the flower show was to be held, Sarah sensed a special eagerness amongst the villagers she passed. While it was nothing compared to the excitement and pleasantness on the day when the Earl of Grantham's eldest daughter had married the future earl (a day that took Sarah completely by surprise, having only worked at the Grantham Arms for less than a month when it happened), every person she passed seemed to be smiling and cheerful, and it just filled Sarah with a pleasant feeling of her own.

Perhaps Downton was the key to her own happiness? While Mrs. Miller had told her that the Grantham Arms would serve as a temporary work place, until she had been there long enough to earn a positive reference from Mr. Yardley, she honestly didn't think she wished to leave the village. It seemed like a very nice place, a perfect place for someone to settle. Perhaps that little cottage of her dreams lay somewhere nearby?

_Or maybe you'll find yourself working at Downton Abbey?_

She felt her face heat up at the suggestion her mind offered. Her eyes drifted to the distant spires that overlooked the rooftops and trees, and once again found herself admiring it and wondering what it would be like to serve and sleep under its roof. Surely the maid's quarters in such a place like that were more comfortable than the ones she kept with Edna?

_I wonder what the actual bedchambers are like, the sort that is his Lordship and her Ladyship keep? I wonder how many chambers that house has? I wonder what it's like to be a daughter of the Earl and Countess of Grantham? Lady Sarah…_

She paused and shook her head, shushing herself for such silly notions before proceeding onward. Lady Sarah indeed.

* * *

"Careful, Lizzie!" Edith's voice rang out as the little girl scampered ahead of both her aunt and mother, her eyes transfixed on a hopping grasshopper that kept jumping away every time she tried to bend over to pick it up.

Sybil couldn't help but giggle, both at her niece's antics and at her sister's motherly concern. "Are you more concerned that she may take a tumble and scrape her knee?" she asked, her voice teasing, slightly. "Or rip her stocking?"

Edith gave her sister a look out of the side of her eyes, but soon joined her in her laughter. "She's very much like you," she sighed, her focus once again returning to her daughter. "She loves being outdoors and running about in nature; if she's convinced no one is looking, she'll immediately start tugging her shoes off and attempting to rid herself of her stockings so she can prance around barefoot."

Sybil threw her head back and laughed, remembering many a time how she did likewise as a little girl. The sound drew Elizabeth's attention away from the grasshopper, and Sybil winked at the little girl. "Like auntie, like niece," Sybil grinned.

"Yes, I daresay you'll be quite the influence on her, if you aren't already," Edith jokingly groaned.

Sybil continued laughing and wrapped her arm around her sister's waist. "Thank you; I take that as a compliment."

"You would," Edith giggled, rolling her eyes, before wrapping her own arm around Sybil's waist.

The day was very lovely; not too warm, but far too pleasant to remain cooped up indoors. Sir Anthony, Edith, and Elizabeth, had come to Downton for luncheon, and it was Sybil's idea that she and Elizabeth walk from the house to the village for the flower show. Edith quickly decided to join them, leaving poor Anthony the task of picking up and driving Violet to the show all on his own. Still, Edith was glad for this opportunity away from the rest of the family to ask Sybil what was on her mind.

"Has either Mama or Papa said anything to you about some gentleman coming to call on Wednesday?"

Sybil, who had been smiling as she watched her niece now try to chase a butterfly, quickly snapped her head in her sister's direction, her smile fading completely. "What?" she asked, her eyes widening with horror. What gentleman? Oh God, what were her parents trying to do now?

"Anthony told me that Papa asked him to write to some friend of his, from his army days," Edith explained. "Apparently the man has an estate that is similar in size to Loxley, but that suffered a great deal like Downton did, in the aftermath of the War. Yet despite its financial burdens, the gentleman was able to turn things around thanks to…well, I'm not sure really, modernizing something I think, but the point is that Papa asked Anthony to write to his friend about coming to Downton to help Papa and Papa's estate manager in getting things turned around, and apparently, I just learned, this gentleman is coming sometime next Wednesday, so I was simply curious if you had learned more?"

Sybil processed everything her sister had just told her, her mind going back and over the words several times, trying to see if she could hear anything that hinted at ulterior motives to this gentleman's visit, whoever he was.

_Edith said he's a friend of Sir Anthony's; does that mean the two of them are the same age? Most likely…_

She made a small face at the first thought that came to her. Sybil adored Sir Anthony, she thought both he and Edith were very well suited for one another, and yes, even though technically the man was the same age as their father, there was a youthful quality to him that Sybil had no doubt was thanks in large part to Edith's influence on the man. Still, all that being said, she wasn't sure if a man twenty-five years her senior would be a good match for _her…_

"I…I haven't heard anything," Sybil finally answered, her eyes narrowing, wondering when her parents were going to tell her that they were to receive a special guest sometime next week, as well as why they hadn't said anything.

_Perhaps simply because he is coming for the very reasons to which Edith gave? To go over the management of the estate and help Papa in making improvements?_ Yes, perhaps it was as innocent as all that, and she was simply being paranoid?

"Ah well," Edith sighed, smiling as Elizabeth toddled towards her, having wandered to the side of the lane they were walking and having plucked a dandelion and was handing it to her. "I thought since he was a friend of Anthony's, we should have him come to Loxley for dinner at least once while he's visiting."

Sybil mutely nodded her head, not saying anything further on the subject, but her mind still racing and questioning if someone was up to something…

* * *

The thick, sweet scent of roses greeted her nose long before she even crossed the street to enter the Village Hall where the flower show was being held. Sarah smiled at the scent, as well as felt her heart swell with pity for any poor soul that suffered from hay fever. She was eager to see what sorts of flowers had been gathered from the various gardens of Downton Village, and she even found herself wondering if perhaps one day, she would be entering her own roses, should she stay?

The hall was filled with people, and Sarah smiled as she saw men and women in expensive hats and suits walk alongside others who were dressed similarly to herself. Clearly the village flower show was something that brought people together from across the varying social classes; from lords and ladies, to the men and women who worked in their houses, to the men and women who worked on their land. She liked that, that an event such as this could bring about a moment of equality. She also liked how cheerful everyone seemed; no doubt because this was the first flower show to be held without the world being at war. Yes, something to smile and celebrate, indeed.

She had wandered to a booth where an elderly gentlemen was displaying several types of beautiful roses of varying shades, but it was the pink ones that particularly caught her attention (pink roses had always been her favorite). She had bent her head to sniff the flowers, and was lifting it to smile and compliment the gardener, when she felt a light tug on the hem of her skirt. Confused, Sarah turned her attention to where the tug had come from, and gasped as she looked down and met the large brown eyes of the most adorable little girl she had ever seen.

"Auntie Thybil?"

"Oh gracious," Sarah murmured, quickly kneeling down so both she and the child were of the same height. "Have you lost your auntie, dear?"

The little girl was frowning, looking most confused. "Auntie Thybil?" she repeated, a tiny hand reaching out to touch Sarah's coat.

_Poor thing,_ Sarah thought. _She's much braver than I was at that age, of course whenever I got lost, I did not have the good fortune for it to be in a lovely place like this._ "Come, we'll find your aunt," she promised, offering the girl what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but the little girl continued to frown, her tiny face scrunched in such a way, as if she were concentrating very hard.

"No…no," the little girl protested, shaking her head at Sarah's suggestion. Now it was Sarah who was starting to frown, but more out of concern for the child than for any other reason.

"It's alright," Sarah promised, remaining at eye level with the girl, not wanting to frighten her. "Tell me, what does your auntie look like?"

The child didn't even hesitate. "You."

Sarah frowned. "Me?"

The little girl nodded.

_She must mean we look similar; same height, same eye color, perhaps we're wearing similar looking clothes?_ That could be the only explanation, of course.

…But something about the way the girl was looking at her, as well as the way in which had answered Sarah's question had shaken her. She decided to continue asking the child questions, ask her if her aunt was wearing a plaid jacket or a hat that looked like hers; anything that could help her search for the child's lost aunt who was somewhere in that room.

Yet before she had the chance to even open her mouth to begin, the girl turned on her heel and began to wander away!

"Wait!" Sarah cried, rising to her feet, muttering a curse under her breath as her heel got caught on her coat, before straightening up to follow the child who was moving away very, very quickly! "Wait!" she called again, but the little girl didn't look back at her, and no one else seemed to be taking notice of the child that was wandering past them.

_I have to follow her, I have to make sure that she's alright,_ Sarah told herself, politely trying to make her way through the crowd and not lose sight of the child who was moving with surprising speed for a toddler. She recalled one such horrifying moment when she was small, getting lost amongst the fisherman's stalls in Liverpool, the horrid smell of blood, scales, and salt water filling her nose, crying for her mother who wouldn't come no matter how hard she screamed; crying for her father who didn't care if she did. No, even though the Downton flower show was nothing like that awful place, she still would not abandon a child.

She kept pushing her way through, apologizing along the way, trying desperately to keep up, tempted even to shout at someone to catch the girl before she got too far, but thankfully, the child stopped next to a woman in a lovely, lavender and cream summer dress.

"Oh I hope that's her aunt," Sarah breathed to herself, watching as the child tugged at the skirt of the other woman, just as she had tugged at her own skirt moment's ago.

"OH, ELIZABETH!" the woman gasped, looking down at the child and quickly falling to her knees to embrace her. Sarah sighed with relief at the sight; oh good, the child _had_ found the person she was looking for.

"Do you know how frightened I was?" the woman asked, pulling out of the embrace and gripping the child's shoulders. "Don't do that to me!" she scolded, looking at the child with what Sarah could only assume was a stern expression, based on the somewhat guilty expression that the girl wore.

"It's alright!" Sarah spoke, knowing it was none of her concern, that she really should mind her own business; after all, no damage was done and the child was back with whom she belonged. Yet for some reason, she felt compelled to say something. "I think she was simply confused; she came up to me and asked for her 'Auntie Thybil'," she explained, mimicking the little girl, who grinned up at her and then pointed a finger in her direction.

"Look, Auntie Thybil, look!"

The woman rose to her feet, one hand still clasping the child's, but lifted her eyes to meet Sarah's and to thank her…

And they both froze.

Sarah's smile faded and her eyes grew wide as she stared back into the eyes…into _the face_ really, that…that somehow…

_It's me!_

This wasn't a woman who looked similarly to herself. This was a woman _who looked just like herself!_ It was like…gazing back at her reflection…

And clearly the same thoughts were going through the other woman's mind as well, as she stared back at Sarah with wide eyes full of shock and disbelief, while Elizabeth jumped up and down, giggling and pointing back and forth between the two of them.

"Two Thybils!" she cheered.

* * *

_I apologize for the spaces; just take them out and pop in the link and you will see Angie's sweet pic!_

_ angiemagz . tumblr post / 52108299630 /_

_sybil-and-sarah_


	6. Chapter 6

_Well look at that, another update :oP you guys spoil me ;o) and I can't help myself! I'm as eager as all of you are for the two Toms to show up...sadly, that isn't this chapter. In fact, it will be a while before they do, BUT we will see a lot more of the "two thybils!" from here on out! And thank you so much for the lovely reviews! I'm glad so many of you loved little Elizabeth Strallan ;o) she'll continue to win hearts and cause mischief as the story goes. _

_This chapter is a bit emotional, as Sybil does some detective work and tries to learn a little bit more about what happened to her twin sister. Just wanted to give fair warning for the subject matter. But humorous times are coming! I promise! Hope you enjoy and thank you as always for reading!_

* * *

_Chapter Six_

She had had one job to do: entertain and look after her niece, giving her sister and brother-in-law some peace and quiet to tour the flower show at their leisure. She had even insisted that they let her do this, knowing what a handful Elizabeth could be (and how much she loved showing off in front of others), so upon arriving, she took her niece from Edith's arms, telling her that they were going to explore and sniff every flower under the roof, to which Elizabeth giggled and clapped her hands, before giving her mother a fat kiss on the cheek and waving goodbye.

And for the first ten minutes, everything had been fine! Elizabeth had been as good as gold, holding her aunt's hand, greeting all the gardeners with a sweet smile, and even practicing her curtsey, as her mother had taught her.

But at some point, Sybil wasn't sure which, the child's hand had slipped from her own, and while she was speaking politely to old Mr. Molesley, the little girl had wandered off.

_Edith will hate me if she ever finds out! Oh Lord, _I _hate me!_ She was frantically looking around the room, trying to spot the child, but the crowd was growing larger and larger by the second it seemed, and a little two-year old girl could easily get lost amongst the shuffle.

Her first instinct was to find Edith and Sir Anthony, assuming Elizabeth was looking for her parents. But they were seen standing off to the side of the hall, in the midst of some sort of debate with her grandmother and Cousin Isobel.

No trace of Elizabeth.

Had she gone in search of her grandparents? Sybil looked around the room, trying to find her mother and father, but when she spotted them, talking to Mr. Travis and Dr. Clarkson, once again she was left feeling confused and disappointed at seeing no trace of the child.

Where could she have gone? Oh heavens, did she dare raise her voice and call out for her? Would Elizabeth hear her? Would it create some sort of panic? Would—

A tug on the hem of her skirt brought her attention to the ground, and a huge sigh of relief slipped passed her lips as she took in the sight of the very child she had been looking for, before falling to her knees and enfolding her niece in her arms. "OH, ELIZABETH!" she exclaimed, so happy to have found her (or rather, to have been found by her), but also upset that she been put through that worry, even though Sybil knew it was her own fault for not keeping a better watch on the child. Still, she was trembling with relief and frustration, and seized her niece's shoulders, giving her a very stern look. "Do you know how frightened I was? Don't do that to me!"

Her words and the look she was giving Elizabeth must have been working, for the little girl did look guilty. But a voice from behind her began to speak, telling her it was alright, that Elizabeth had been confused, referring to the stranger as her "Auntie Thybil". Elizabeth was giggling and grinning at whoever the other woman was, and Sybil was thankful that at least someone was watching over her niece, when she had failed to do so. She rose to her feet then, turning to thank the woman for all that she had done, while Elizabeth was pointing a finger and trying to get her attention to the stranger.

And that was when it happened. Sybil lifted her eyes to meet the gaze of the stranger, prepared to thank the woman for the help she had offered, and froze…as she gazed back at her own face, reflected on another person.

My dream, she thought. Suddenly, memories of the odd dream she had had, of staring back into a mirror, looking confused, looking…amazed.

Only it wasn't a mirror that she was looking at.

It was another person.

"Two Thybils!" Elizabeth cheered from the ground where she stood, giggling and gazing up at the two of them.

And the sound of her niece's exuberance, Sybil blinked.

…And the stranger let out a gasp, her hand suddenly rising to cover her mouth.

And then she fled.

Sybil hadn't realized then that she had been holding her breath, until the other woman turned and ran. Suddenly, a great gush of air escaped her lungs, so great that Sybil actually staggered slightly. And then before she realized what she was doing, she was chasing after the woman, desperate to see her, needing to…to…

To what?

She didn't know, but she couldn't just…let her go now!

"Wait!" she cried, pushing her way through the crowd, trying to catch up to the woman who was already running out of the hall, the doors swinging in her wake.

She finally managed to reach the outside, and saw that the woman's retreating figure; she had stopped, thank heaven, and was leaning a nearby tree, one hand braced on the trunk, her body bent over as if she were catching her breath. Sybil looked around, making sure no one else was nearby, but thankfully the street seemed deserted. With tentative steps, she approached the woman, worrying her lip and wondering what on earth she was going to say.

Did it matter? No, she just needed to speak to her.

"Hello?"

The woman stiffened, and Sybil noticed how she suddenly straightened her body and looked like she was ready to flee once again.

"Wait, please!"

The woman didn't move. Sybil breathed a sigh of relief, and continued to approach carefully.

"I…" now what? "My name is Sybil…Sybil Crawley…" she began. It seemed that introductions were always a good place to start.

The woman however seemed to stiffen even more. She turned her head slightly, looking over her shoulder at Sybil with large, wide eyes, fear and confusion dancing in their blue-gray depths. _The same exact color as my eyes, _Sybil thought.

"Sybil Crawley?" the woman whispered.

Sybil nodded, trying to put on a smile. "That's right," she confirmed.

"_Lady_ Sybil Crawley?" the woman repeated, adding Sybil's title to the name.

Sybil could sense why perhaps the girl looked so afraid.

"Just call me Sybil," she tried to assure, however the poor girl was still staring back at her, looking ready to flee any second_. Is that what I look like when I'm afraid?_ "Please…I…I'm not going to hurt you," she murmured gently. "I just…I just want to…" Just want to what? "What's your name?"

The woman stared back at her, and there were several tense seconds where Sybil was convinced she was going to turn and run away again. Yet instead, she opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again and murmured in the faintest of voices, "Sarah."

Sybil leaned a little closer. "Sarah?" she repeated, believing she had heard the woman correctly.

She nodded.

"Sarah…" Sybil murmured to herself. "I'm very pleased to meet you…Sarah."

She held her hand out, hoping that Sarah would shake it, but instead she shrank away, and Sybil quickly drew it back.

Now what? Sybil was at an utter loss. They knew each other's names, but…that didn't explain how it was that they both looked so alike.

_Like twins._

The thought caused her stiffen. _No…no it…it can't be true…_

The other woman—Sarah, was shifting uncomfortably back and forth, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her, her head looking down, her eyes every so often glancing up at Sybil, before quickly lowering back to the ground. "I…" she began, much to both their surprises. She looked just as stumped on what to do or say as Sybil, but it was clear that the silence between them was worse than anything else. She lifted her eyes once more, and once again Sybil felt her breath catch as she gazed into a pair of eyes that were identical to her own. "I…I'm sorry," she mumbled at last.

Sybil stared back in confusion, her brow furrowing as she took in what Sarah had said. "You're…sorry?" she repeated.

Sarah lowered her eyes again and nodded.

Sybil's frown only deepened, and she took a careful step towards her. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I…" Sarah looked up then, and it was clear there was a look of confusion on her own face. She bit her lip, as her own brow furrowed with confusion. "Actually…I…I don't know," she finally answered, as honestly as she could.

They looked at one another for a moment. And then both of them started to smile, and laughter began to bubble up out of their throats. And the tension they were feeling began to ease a little…

"I…I honestly thought…you were apologizing for…for…well, for looking like…me," Sybil confessed between giggles.

Sarah blushed deeply, but was still grinning, her gloved hand rising to cover her mouth. "Actually…I was!" she confessed, and both of them laughed anew.

It was amazing; how something as simple as a shared laugh could truly bring about a feeling of some sort of…_connection_. At least that was what Sybil was feeling. Did Sarah feel it too?

"Do you live here, in the village?" Sybil asked, her eyes never leaving Sarah's face, still amazed at the sight of seeing herself on this other person. Even the way Sarah would nibble her bottom lip was something similar to what Sybil did. _Truly, it is like looking into a mirror_, Sybil thought. Only it was more than that, as well. It was like seeing yourself, but also seeing another person. Because while Sarah had the same face, and even some of the same expressions and gestures, she was still…_Sarah_.

Sarah's eyes widened slightly at Sybil's question, and once more she lowered them, looking down at her feet and blushing. "I um…" she stammered. "I've only been here, in Downton, since March," she explained. "I work at the Grantham Arms; I'm a chambermaid there."

A chambermaid. A chambermaid at the Grantham Arms. And she had only been in the village since March of that year. It made sense then that Sybil had never seen her around the village until now (it would be impossible to forget such an encounter). But where had she been before? Why had she come to Downton? Who were her family? There were so many questions swirling around in Sybil's head, so many questions that she needed to have answered because she needed to know more about Sarah, she needed to know why they looked identical and more importantly, _why_ she felt this strange connection to her!

She opened her mouth to do just that, but before any words could take shape, a shrill voice was heard just over her shoulder.

"SYBIL!"

Oh no…

Sybil turned her head, and saw a very irate looking Edith exiting the village hall and marching right towards her. She turned her attention quickly back to Sarah, but the girl was already fleeing, a good several yards away. "Wait!" Sybil called, but Sarah didn't turn around. She kept running, one hand gripping her skirts while the other lay on top of her head to keep her hat from falling off. Sybil watched, her heart sinking into her stomach as the girl who shared the same face as hers disappeared down the street.

"SYBIL!"

She groaned and closed her eyes, lowering her head as she turned at last to face her sister.

"You said you were going to watch Elizabeth!" Edith began, stalking towards her, a deep frown on her face. "When I find her standing by herself in the village hall, crying for her auntie, who apparently has abandoned her to come outside for…what, exactly?"

Sybil felt awful. She couldn't blame Edith for being upset, after all, she had promised to look after Elizabeth and had failed twice now in keeping her promise. She hated the thought of disappointing her sister and causing any distress to her niece.

"Is Elizabeth alright?" she sheepishly asked.

Edith nodded, although she still looked upset. "Yes, she's with Anthony right now…keeps going on about 'two sybils'," she shook her head, frowning with confusion. "Anyway, William Mason, our former footman, found her and brought her to us, thank heaven. And imagine my shock to hear him say, when I asked where you were, that he thought he had seen you run outside after someone!"

Sybil bit her lip and felt her face grow hot. "I'm very sorry Edith, really, I…" she sighed and glanced over her shoulder in the direction Sarah had gone. What could she say? _I saw someone who looked exactly like me? A woman who has the same face as myself? A woman who looks like my twin?_

Her breath caught in her throat once again, as that thought drifted once more through her head.

"Sybil?" Edith's earlier frustration had quickly melted and was now replaced with concern. "Sybil, are you alright?"

"I…" she glanced one more time over her shoulder and then back at her sister. "I…I think…I think I need to walk."

Edith's brow furrowed. "Walk? Sybil, what's wrong? You're pale and—"

"I'll be fine, Edith!" she put on what she hoped was a reassuring smile and began to walk away from her sister and the village hall. "I think it was the crush inside; just a little fresh air outdoors and I'll be good as new!"

She didn't wait to hear her sister's reply; she was already walking at a brisk pace, towards the village church which was only a lane away from the hall. She kept walking, eyes steady and focused as she came around the bend, and moved past the church, to the village cemetery that lay just beyond. And she didn't stop until she reached the hallowed place within the cemetery where all of the Crawleys were buried…including one small grave.

**Beloved Daughter and Sister**  
**Our little angel, may you bless and watch over us**  
**June 10, 1896**

Sybil stared at the stone, her eyes fixed on the date in particular. It was her birthday; she had been born in the early hours while the sky was still dark and the rest of the world slept. It was also the day her sister had died.

Throughout her childhood, Sybil had come to this stone. On her birthday, she and her mother would lay flowers on the grave, clasp hands, and say a little prayer. She remembered how her mother used to cry when she was little. Now, her mother looked sad, but didn't cry like she used to. That didn't mean she wasn't grieving, of course. As for Sybil, she never knew what to feel. She felt sad, but she knew a part of that was because others told her she should feel sad. If truth be told, she felt…empty. To her, it was just a stone in the ground; a stone with word "sister" carved into it, along with her—_their_ birthday. And even now, as she stared at the stone, she didn't feel anything other than hollowness…

Unlike when I stood before her, Sybil thought. In that brief moment of meeting eyes with Sarah, in standing before her, talking to her, hearing her laugh…in those brief moments, Sybil felt a connection deeper than anything she had ever felt in coming to this grave throughout her life. This was the place where her twin sister rested; she should feel something, shouldn't she?

…Unless her sister wasn't really there…

* * *

Cora was seated at her vanity, O'Brien adding some final touches to her hair, when a knock was heard at the door. O'Brien dutifully answered the door, and Cora smiled at the sight of her youngest through the reflection of her mirror. "I'm glad to see you, darling, are you feeling better? Edith told me that you didn't look very well—"

"I'm fine, Mama, thank you, much better," she rushed out, forcing a smile. She glanced at O'Brien, who lowered her eyes before meeting the youngest Crawley girl's eyes. Sybil always thought it strange how her mother's lady's maid could never look her in the eye for very long. "Mama," Sybil began, turning her attention back to the Countess of Grantham. "Can I…ask you something?"

"Of course, dear," her mother replied, sliding on one of her gloves.

Sybil nibbled her bottom lip and glanced once more at O'Brien. "Privately?"

Cora lifted her head and looked at her daughter in the mirror once again. "Of course," she murmured, seeing now for the first time what looked like…distress, on her youngest's face. "If you will excuse us, O'Brien?"

"Certainly, milady," O'Brien mumbled under her breath, before turning and leaving the room. Sybil waited until she heard the door click shut before moving across the room to her mother.

"Are you sure you're feeling well?" Cora asked again, gazing at her daughter's reflection as she pulled on her other glove. "You do seem a little pale—"

"I'm fine, I just…I have a question, actually," she went on, coming around to sit on the footstool near the vanity.

Cora turned and looked at her daughter, her eyes still filled with concern. "Alright," she murmured, giving Sybil her undivided attention. "What's troubling you?"

Sybil sighed and looked down at her own hands which were presently clasped together on her lap. "It's…it's not easy," she began.

Cora's mind was racing ahead, trying to think of what it could be that her daughter wanted to ask, but that was clearly causing her some distress. "I've always said to you girls that you can come to me for anything," she reached forward and squeezed Sybil's hands. "I meant it when I said then and I still mean it; so please darling, tell me what's on your mind."

Sybil looked up and smiled, grateful for her mother's support, although she hated herself for what she was about to ask, knowing that it would bring back painful memories. Still, she needed answers; she needed to solve this mystery.

"My question…" she took a deep breath. "My question is about…my sister."

Cora looked confused. "Edith?"

Sybil shook her head. "No, and not Mary either."

Cora sat back then, realization dawning on her. Her hands still held Sybil's, but Sybil felt the grip stiffen. "What do you wish to know?" she asked in a voice soft.

Sybil took another breath and squeezed her mother's hands; it was her turn to be the center of strength and support. "How…how did she die?"

Her whole life, she had never thought to ask this question. She didn't even know if her sister had even been born living! During her training in York, she had heard cases about women giving birth to twins, one healthy and strong, while the other was weak, or sadly even, a still birth. The truth was no one had ever given her any details to night which both she and her sister were born. It just wasn't done. And she had never thought to push for answers, until now.

_Until I had a reason…_

Her mother looked hesitant, and Sybil bit her lip, thinking perhaps she had been too forward with her question. Yet Cora squeezed her hands back and took a deep breath, before finally answering.

"You came first," she murmured, smiling at Sybil, although it was clearly a sad smile. "When Mary and Edith were born, Dr. Clarkson had to slap their backs to get them to cry. But not you," she recalled, her smile widening. "No, you had the strongest lungs of any baby I had ever heard," she laughed. "You entered the world protesting; suppose your father and I shouldn't have been too surprised with your interest in the suffrage movement."

Sybil found herself laughing with her mother, but she still felt the tenseness in her mother's grip. She squeezed her hands, urging her to continue.

"O'Brien took you into the corridor where your father was pacing," Cora continued. "They told me you were a strong, healthy girl," she smiled, despite the tears that Sybil could see pooling in her mother's eyes. "But…but I was still in labor," she explained. "I didn't see you until afterwards…"

Afterwards. Until after her sister was born…

"Your sister," she began, pausing once again to take a deep breath. "She…she was very quiet, when she was born."

Sybil bit her lip, hating herself as she saw her mother silently cry as she relived the loss of her child. "Did you…did you see her?" she asked in a soft voice. It was a silly question, but at the same time she needed the answer. She needed to know if what her heart was contemplating could be possible.

Cora stiffened again, and a long, shaky breath escaped her lips. "No," she answered honestly, looking down at her lap as she spoke. "No, I…Dr. Clarkson, you see, he…he was concerned, and asked the nurse to take her to…to another room for observation…" she paused to collect herself, her vision blurring with tears as the memory of that night, nearly twenty-three years ago, began to return. Although despite the years, it still felt as if that wonderful and horrible night were only yesterday.

Sybil took in everything her mother had said. So she hadn't seen the baby. At least not while her sister were still alive. "Did you…" she paused, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, hoping her mother would forgive her for her next question. "Did you see her _after?"_

She lifted her eyes to meet her mother's, and her heart broke at the sadness she saw. The tears that had been stinging Cora's eyes began to flow freely, and she simply shook her head in answering Sybil's question. No, she hadn't seen the child, not while she was living, and not after the sad announcement had been delivered.

"Dr. Clarkson thought it best…" she tried to speak, but had to pause once again, a sob threatening to escape from the back of her throat. "I wanted to see her," she told Sybil, feeling it was necessary that her daughter knew this. "Oh, how I wanted to see her and to hold her…" she gasped, turning her head away as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

Sybil felt her own eyes cloud with tears as she listened to her mother speak. She couldn't imagine the sorrow she must feel, knowing that she had given birth to two children, but being denied the opportunity to see and hold one of them, even after everything. To not even have that chance to say goodbye…it numbed Sybil to the core.

But another thought suddenly invaded her mind, a thought she had that once again stemmed from her time in York, and the stories she heard from nurses who assisted with births, in particular those stories about twins, where one child survived and the other didn't.

"You said…" Sybil began, trying to control her own emotions. "You said that I was healthy and strong, screaming the second I was born…but…but she was quiet?" And weak; even though her mother hadn't used that word, she knew that was what everyone would have told her was the reason as to why her sister hadn't survived. One baby was born strong and healthy, while the other was born weak; too weak to live. And a question that had always been in the back of her head finally came forward, when she looked up at her mother and woefully asked, "Did I kill her?"

Cora's eyes widened and she whipped her head back to her daughter. "What?" she gasped, staring at her youngest in disbelief. "No! No, of course not!" she released Sybil's hands, and her own went to cup her daughter's face, wanting to hold her gaze as she spoke. "You _did not_ kill your sister, Sybil, do you understand?"

"But I was the strong one!" Sybil protested, her own tears flowing down her face. "Why was she born so weak? I must have…I must have—"

"Darling, I don't know why something as horrible as this happens; I don't know why some babies live and some don't; no one does! Was it something I did? Was it something that happened during the labor? I don't know! But YOU are blameless, Sybil, do you understand? DO NOT blame yourself for this!" her hands had moved down to her daughter's shoulders and she gave them a little shake to make her point. "Sometimes…" she sighed. "Sometimes these things happen…that's all I can say. It's not a great comfort, I know, but…but there is no point in beating yourself up about it, or blaming yourself when _you_ were just a tiny child!" Her hands moved down to once again hold Sybil's, squeezing them as a sign of affection. "It could just as easily have been you, my dear…and while I do miss your sister and wish…very, very much that she had lived, I am so grateful, so, so grateful…" she sighed, leaning forward until her brow touched her daughter's. "…So grateful to have you."

They stayed like that for a moment, smiling at each other through their tears, holding hands and letting the sadness of the past wash away. Finally, they leaned back, one hand still holding the other, while they took their individual handkerchiefs to wipe their eyes and faces.

"I'm sorry, Mama…" Sybil began, feeling she needed to apologize for bringing any of this up.

Cora shook her head. "No, it's alright; I realize now that I never said anything to you about this, and I should have. How long have you had these questions?"

She had probably been having them her entire life, but in truth they didn't come crashing forward until after today, until after she had seen a woman who had the same face as hers. Was it possible?

"Did Papa see her?" she asked, worrying her lip slightly at bringing the subject up again, but needing the answer.

"No," Cora murmured. "No, we…we were so distraught by the news, and…and at the time we thought it best to…well," she sighed and shook her head. "I confess, I wanted to name her, but…but your grandmother thought that would be too painful, so…" she shook her head again. "Only Dr. Clarkson and nurse saw her," she concluded.

_Only Dr. Clarkson and the nurse_. Sybil made a mental note to go and call upon Dr. Clarkson tomorrow, see what he could tell her. Maybe he could give her the name of the nurse who had been assisting him? She just…she needed to know. Although at the same time, she wasn't sure what she wanted to believe.

She hugged her mother then, thanking her for answering her questions, and apologized once more for bringing back painful memories. Her mother shushed her, and returned the embrace, before rising, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose once again, and then leaving hand in hand to join the others for dinner. If there was any suspicion about the nature of Cora and Sybil's conversation, no one asked. Dinner went on as it usually did, with Violet dominating the conversation. Sybil sipped her wine and listened, smiling at the appropriate moments, but her mind was already racing head to the next day, wondering how early Dr. Clarkson would be at the hospital. That night, when she finally managed to fall asleep, she dreamt that she was in a strange house, a house that looked like Downton, only every room was filled with mirrors. She was running through the house, searching for something, for someone, calling out a name over and over. She kept pausing every time she caught her reflection. She would approach the mirror, only to be disappointed when she realized it was just her reflection and not the person she was seeking. When morning finally came and she awoke, she looked awful, with dark circles under her eyes, a clear sign that she had had a most fitful rest. But despite Gwen's friendly concern, Sybil rose, splashed water onto her face, and then quickly proceeded to get dressed. She paused in the breakfast room to have some toast and jam, but then quickly went on her way, mumbling something to her father about being back in time for luncheon.

It was only half-past nine, but thankfully Dr. Clarkson was already there and in his office, when she arrived at the village hospital. He looked up from some notes he was taking, surprised to see her standing in the open doorway to his office.

"Nurse Crawley!" he greeted with a smile, before blushing slightly and clearing his throat. "I beg your pardon; Lady Sybil," he corrected.

Sybil smiled and shook her head. "Actually, Dr. Clarkson, it's rather refreshing to hear someone use my 'old title'," she murmured. In her head, it was her true title.

He smiled back and put his pen down, gesturing that she take a seat in the chair opposite his desk. "How can I help you this morning?"

Sybil smiled again, although this time it was a little nervous. "Actually, I have a question for you…" she began, sitting down but keeping her back rigid and straight, clasping her hands tightly on her lap. "And…it is a bit of an odd question, but…one that has been plaguing me recently and…well, I did speak with my mother about it last night, but it seems that you are the one with whom the answer lies."

His brow furrowed but he gave a small nod of his head. "I shall do my best to answer whatever is on your mind," he assured.

Sybil gave a small, grateful smile, took a deep breath, and then began. "It's in regards to my sister—my twin sister," she clarified, not wanting to confuse him the way she had confused her mother the previous evening. "I…I had asked Mama if either she or Papa had seen her, after she had been born, and…and after she had died," she explained. "She said they hadn't. That once she was born, because of her…of her weakened state," she forced herself to say the words. "That you had a nurse take her into another room for observation…?"

Dr. Clarkson sighed and looked down at his desk, before folding his hands and leaning forward to answer her. "Your sister had a very weak heartbeat," he began, "and her breathing seemed quite labored. It…the situation, did not look very positive," he explained. "And not wanting to cause further stress to either his Lordship or Ladyship, I asked Nurse Wilson, who was assisting me that evening, to take the child to another room for observation…although, I must confess, I did not have high hopes."

For some reason, this answer stung her. She knew what he meant; she had seen many cases in her time as a nurse at the hospital where patients were brought in, their injuries so severe that Sybil knew they would most likely not recover. That didn't mean however, that it was any less upsetting, just because she had come to accept this conclusion.

"Did you see her after she had died?" she murmured, leaning forward on her chair.

Dr. Clarkson frowned, but nodded his head. "I left her in the care of Nurse Wilson; I had another call I needed to make that evening, but promised your parents that I would be back before morning. From what I understand, Nurse Wilson remained with your sister all night, and Miss O'Brien made sure to keep anyone from disturbing them. But when I returned…" he sighed and shook his head. "It's a sad case, but it is one that happens."

"_Sometimes these things happen…"_

"Judging from how she looked, it seemed that she had…had been dead for several hours," he sighed sadly. "But if it's any comfort, as I…as I tried to explain to her Ladyship, I believe she died peacefully in her sleep."

If only it were a comfort. But it wasn't, in fact, it simply sparked more questions for her.

"So Nurse Wilson was the only one who spent the entire night with her?" Sybil asked. "When you left, my sister was still alive, although very weak, but when you had returned, she was gone?"

Dr. Clarkson nodded his head, although he was looking at her curiously. "May I ask what brought these questions on, Nurse Crawley?"

Sybil blushed. "It's just…something that has suddenly intrigued me; I never really knew the truth about what happened that night, and I simply wanted to know." She still felt she didn't know the truth about what had happened, but the more she learned, the more she realized that people had assumed a certain fate had befallen her sister.

_And why shouldn't they? It's not as if there wasn't a body to bury; Dr. Clarkson said so himself that he returned and saw that her sister had died…_

Or rather, he returned and saw that _someone_ had died.

A chill ran down Sybil's back as she contemplated that thought_. Had it_ been her sister? Her parents never saw the child. And Dr. Clarkson had been gone for several hours. What if…?

"Do you know where Nurse Wilson is now?" Sybil asked, looking up at Dr. Clarkson with pleading eyes, desperation in her voice. That was where the answer lay; if she could perhaps find this woman, speak to her, find out if she—

"Nurse Wilson…passed away four years ago," Dr. Clarkson answered, leaning back in his chair. "She was seventy-seven."

Sybil's heart fell at the doctor's answer. So much for her hope at finding answers with the only person who had spent the entire night with her sister. As far as the world was concerned, Sybil Crawley's twin sister had died in her sleep, sometime between midnight and dawn. She was under the observation of one woman, and now that woman was dead too. The truth about what had happened would never truly be known.

…And yet, what explanation could be given that there was now this person, living and working in the village that looked…that looked _exactly_ like her? This was more than a coincidence to be sure!

"Nurse Crawley?" Dr. Clarkson asked, looking at Sybil with concern.

Sybil looked up at him, and then her eyes fell to his desk. "May I?" she asked, her hands reaching for the pen he had been using earlier, as well as a small sheet of paper. Dr. Clarkson looked confused, but nodded his head, and watched as Sybil quickly scribbled a note of her own on the paper. He was about to ask her if everything was alright, but she was already rising to her feet and thanking him for his help, and without a backwards glance…was already heading out the door, a determined stride in her step and a determined expression on her face.

* * *

"Sarah!"

Sarah was passing the kitchen entrance, just coming from the laundry room with fresh sheets for one of the rooms upstairs, when she heard Daisy hiss her name. With a furrowed brow, she approached the kitchen maid, curious as to what she wanted.

"This came for you," Daisy explained, holding out a small piece of paper.

Sarah looked confused. "Came for me?" She looked down at the paper. It wasn't a proper letter (not that she had anyone to write to or who would write to her), but from what she could see, it was simply a folded piece of paper, with her name written on one side. "What is it?"

"I don't know!" Daisy giggled. "But I can't deny that I'm curious," she confessed. "William brought it."

Sarah's brow furrowed even more. She had seen the farmer from across the yard when she was sometimes hanging sheets on the clothesline outside, or through the kitchen windows, observing both him and Daisy talking to each other, but she had never met the man, let alone hold a conversation with him. She wasn't even sure he knew who she was! "Why…would he bring me a letter?" She suddenly panicked, her eyes flying to Daisy's in fear that perhaps the man her friend was sweet on was suddenly showing unnecessary interest in _her!_ No, no, she did not want to lose another friend on account of some man!

However, if this was Daisy's fear, she didn't show it. "Apparently it's from Downton Abbey!" Daisy grinned.

Sarah practically dropped the sheets she was holding. "Downton…Downton Abbey?" she stammered.

Daisy only nodded, oblivious to Sarah's sudden panic. "Remember how I told you that William once worked as a footman at Downton Abbey, before the War? Well, Lady Sybil, one of his Lordship's daughters, asked him to give you this letter!"

Lady Sybil.

Lady Sybil Crawley.

The woman who shared the same face as hers.

If Daisy hadn't stepped forward to catch the sheets she was carrying, they surely would have slipped from Sarah's arms and landed on the dusty floor.

"Are you alright?" Daisy asked, looking at her friend with concern.

It was a silly question, although Daisy didn't know the details; the youngest daughter to the Earl of Grantham had just sent her a letter, a woman who looked like…well, who liked she could be her twin sister, if she had a twin sister. It had been the strangest meeting, and Sarah still wasn't quite sure what to make of it. She had been startled—frightened, even, when they had first met eyes. But despite her instincts telling her to run and never look back, when Lady Sybil had called out to her and asked for her name…she couldn't help but answer.

Indeed, it had been a very strange meeting, and yet…there was something eerily familiar as well. Like that feeling she sometimes had whenever she looked at the great house in the distance. There was some odd feeling of…connection. And that feeling doubled when she and Lady Sybil Crawley held each other's gazes.

However, at the sound of another calling out to Lady Sybil, Sarah turned and ran, not wanting to have the two of them stared at, or endure people poking their fingers at her or…who knows. She didn't want to lose this job, and she feared that if someone made some comment about how she and the youngest daughter to the Earl of Grantham looked identical, somehow she would find herself out on the street, with no reference and no prospects. So she ran; ran back to the Grantham Arms, ignoring Daisy and Mrs. Patmore's surprised greetings that she was back already, and locked herself away in her room for the rest of the afternoon, only to leave it when Edna entered, looking sour as she usually did. She created stories and excuses as to why she had left so early (hay fever), mumbling about some of the flowers she had observed, and doing everything she could to keep the conversation away from her…and her sudden odd behavior. And she did what she knew would keep her mind from going back to that odd encounter: she threw herself into her work, both last night and this morning. And so far…it had been working.

Until now.

"Sarah?" Daisy asked, looking worried. "Sarah, should I send for Mr. Yardley? Do you need to see a doctor?"

She shook her head, reaching out to grip the wall to steady herself. "N-n-no," she stammered, shaking her head. She swallowed and gave Daisy a smile. "Just…I am feeling a bit light-headed. Still recovering from my hay fever I think," she lied, hoping the kitchen maid would accept her excuse. "Um…thank you," she mumbled, taking the paper from Daisy's hands.

Naturally Daisy was curious as to what the note said, but Sarah didn't feel like sharing, not this time. She made an excuse that she was going to go back to her room and sit down for ten minutes; she would finish making the beds soon after.

As she turned and headed back up the stairs to the maid's quarters, she nibbled her bottom lip and gazed at the small piece of paper. Should she open it? Why had Lady Sybil written to her? Was it a warning? A threat to stay away? To leave the village at once? No…no, in their brief conversation, Lady Sybil did not strike Sarah as the sort who would make such threats. In fact, Lady Sybil seemed very kind and very concerned for her yesterday. Perhaps that was what this was? Her writing to ask and see if she were alright?

There really was only one way to learn the truth.

She paused at the top step, sat down, and unfolded the paper right there to read.

_Sarah,  
Forgive me for the suddenness of this message, but I am desperate to see and speak with you again.  
Please meet me tomorrow afternoon, in the church yard. There's a large grove of oak trees in the center; I'll be waiting for you there.  
I pray that you will come. I will be there alone.  
—Sybil _


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry for the delay! I've been a busy little beaver with my other fics too, but here it is, another update and things continue progressing! I know many of you are eager for the two Toms to come into the scene; patience gentle readers, their time will come and soon, but everything needs to be set up just before that happens ;o) In the meantime I hope you enjoy this chapter as we learn a bit more about Sarah's background, and as a realization is finally made. ENJOY!_

* * *

_Chapter Seven_

Sarah bit her bottom lip as she stood across the lane, facing the church yard that lay ahead. She kept shifting back and forth nervously, her hands folded and clasped in front of her, her palms sweating inside her gloves as she stared ahead. _Why am I doing this? I should leave; I should turn around right now and go back to the Grantham Arms! This is ridiculous!_ And yet every time she turned her body to go back in the direction she had come, something would stop her from taking the steps, asking her over and over, _but aren't you just a little bit curious…?_

She had lost track as to how long she had been standing there. Long after the last church service for the day had ended. Although Lady Sybil's letter hadn't mentioned a specific time, Sarah assumed it wouldn't be during morning services. Sunday afternoons tended to be quiet at the Grantham Arms, and was really the only day when any of the staff could manage to slip away for an hour or two. There were several famers in the village who were sweet on Edna, and often flirted with her and asked her to go for walks with them. Edna wasn't serious about any of them, but she loved the attention, and quite often left Sarah to do all the chores on Sunday. Still, things were slow enough that before she realized she had made her mind up about whether or not to answer Lady Sybil's letter, she found herself asking Mrs. Patmore that morning, if she could slip out for an hour, sometime after two o'clock.

"Don't see why not," the cook muttered as she set about making the tea cakes. "Sunday lunch has been taken care of, and tea around here is never a grand affair, even on Sunday."

Still, Sarah promised she would only be gone for an hour, hoping that perhaps by limiting her time, she would be able to force herself in making a decision; to meet Lady Sybil or not…indeed, that was the question.

And even after reaching the church, she still didn't have an answer.

_This is silly_, she thought to herself. _You didn't walk half-way across the village just to stand here and gape! _But why did Lady Sybil want to speak to her? Why had she insisted that they meet? She said she would be there alone, but would she? However, Sarah found herself frowning at the thought of Lady Sybil lying in wait with the village constable hiding in the shadows, ready to arrest her for…what? Looking like Lady Sybil? Hadn't the two of them laughed yesterday at the silly notion?

She barely knew the youngest daughter to the Earl of Grantham…and yet…Sarah did not think Lady Sybil the sort who would try to lure her and trick her and purposefully bring any harm upon her. She couldn't quite understand why, but for some reason…Sarah felt a strange connection to the woman…and knew that it was because of that connection, that had brought her to the church yard in the first place.

_Just go…pick a direction, be it to cross the lane or turn around, but pick one and take a step and whichever direction you step towards, do not stop until you either return to the Grantham Arms, or find Lady Sybil Crawley._

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes…and did just that.

* * *

Sybil silently cursed herself as she tried to keep herself from pacing back and forth. Why hadn't she thought to mention a specific time as to when they should meet? She realized that early this morning, when she awoke after a very restless night, her anxieties about this potential meeting, as well as all the information she had managed to gather since Friday's flower show, barely allowing her much sleep the night before. Instead of walking back to Downton with her family after church was over, she told them she wished to take a walk through the village, a walk by herself. Her mother looked concerned, but Sybil put on a reassuring smile, and said she would be back in time for tea, and then turned on her heel and made it look like she was taking the stroll she had told them, only to circle around the village hall, before returning to the church yard…and proceeding to wait.

And so she waited. For nearly three hours.

It wasn't Sarah's fault, though; Sybil didn't blame the hotel maid at all for keeping her waiting—how could she? She simply told Sarah where and the day on which to meet her, but never specifically, _the when_. A fine schemer she was turning out to be.

She sighed as she shifted uncomfortably on the stone bench in the church yard. She had spent the first hour of her vigil standing, craning her neck whenever she thought she heard someone passing by. Eventually she sat down, but the bench was no more comfortable than idly standing for long hours. Was she coming? Her mind went back to the letter she had written; had she said anything to cause the poor woman worry? She had assured her that she would be waiting in the church yard alone, hoping that would squash any anxieties, but maybe her tone had come across too forceful? Oh gracious, what if William hadn't gotten the letter to Sarah? When she had gone to the Mason's farm and found the former footman, he had explained that he didn't know a hotel maid named Sarah, but he would make sure that she received the letter. But what if something had happened? What if William had seen Sarah and thought it was all some strange joke, that Sarah was Sybil? Oh Lord, this was all a tremendous mess! She should have gone directly to the Grantham Arms—she still could do that! But…but then everyone would realize that Sybil and Sarah were identical, and for some reason, Sybil wasn't ready to reveal that to the world just yet, at least not without talking to Sarah first! Maybe she was ill? Maybe she couldn't get away from her work? Maybe she—

A snap of a twig underfoot caused Sybil to whip her head and bolt to her feet. "Hello?"

Silence.

And then, slowly and quietly emerging from behind a tree, came the very person Sybil had been waiting for.

"Oh Sarah!" she gasped, a smile quickly spreading across her face and a shaky breath of relief escaping her lungs. "You came…"

Sarah blushed but smiled and nodded her head. "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting—"

"Oh never mind that!" Sybil laughed, so relieved and happy that she was there at all. "It's my own fault, I never specifically said 'when'; but you're here! And I'm so glad that you did come."

Sarah looked down at her feet and blushed, before quickly brushing a fallen curl behind her ear. However, there was a genuine smile on her face, and it warmed Sybil's heart to see that despite the obvious nervousness on the young woman's face, she didn't seem to regret coming.

"Well…" Sarah began, lifting her eyes bashfully up. "What…what was it that you wished to speak to me about, milady?"

Sybil shook her head. "Oh please, call me Sybil?" she asked, hoping Sarah would. If what she believed was true, Sarah should be the last person referring to her as "milady". "And…well, there's something I would like to show you, but…but before I do, may I ask you something?"

Sarah's brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded her head. "Of course, mila—I mean…Sybil," she corrected herself, which earned a small giggle between the both of them.

"Well…" Sybil began, not quite sure how to ask the question without being forthright. "How old are you?"

Sarah's eyes widened slightly, but she did look offended in the slightest. "Twenty-two," she answered.

_Same age._ "And…your birthday?"

Sarah frowned slightly. "My birthday?"

"Yes, when is your birthday?" _Please say the tenth of June; please say the tenth of June!_

Sarah's face reddened and she lowered her eyes as if…as if she were ashamed. _Oh no_, Sybil thought, her breath catching at the girl's sudden change in demeanor. Had she gone too far? It was an innocent question, but…perhaps she had pushed too hard? The last thing she wanted was to frighten Sarah away!

"I um…well…" Sarah murmured, shifting uncomfortably. "I…I don't know, milady."

Sybil frowned. "You…you don't know when your birthday is?" she asked, trying to clarify Sarah's answer.

She looked so embarrassed and Sybil felt horrible for causing that feeling. "No…I…I don't," Sarah confirmed. "I…well…I mean, I know it's sometime in June," Sarah tried to explain. "But…I…" she paused again and looked down at the ground. "What I'm trying to say is…my mum, she…she died when I was very little."

Sybil's eyes widened at Sarah's words. Who was this woman? Was she truly Sarah's birth mother? Or…was it possible that Sarah's birth mother was much closer than the young woman realized?

"How young were you, if you don't mind me asking?"

Sarah sighed. "Less than four," she sadly whispered. "Typhoid Fever," she explained. "I don't remember her very much, except…" there was a pause in her voice, and from what Sybil could see, whatever memory her words had stirred were causing Sarah some difficulty in expressing. "Except…" she took a deep breath before continuing. "…She was always sad."

Sybil's heart went out to the hotel maid, and she felt a strong urge to step forward and take the girl's hand in hers, but stopped herself, not sure if the gesture would be welcomed. "Why…" she tentatively asked. "Why was she always sad?"

Sarah didn't say anything at first, but she quietly walked forward, until she was standing just next to Sybil, and then quietly took a seat on the bench that Sybil had been sitting on while she waited. Sybil quickly sat next to her, and patiently waited for Sarah to share her story, wanting to learn everything that she could.

"I…I'm from Liverpool, you see," she began. "And my father was a fisherman. He was away a great deal of the time, I barely saw him. And…and when he was home, he um…he didn't like to stay at the house, if he could avoid it."

Sybil frowned at this. "Why?"

Sarah shrugged her shoulders. "Don't know, really. But…but I can't help but think it had something to do with me," she mumbled. "He never liked looking at me; never smiled, never said anything kind," she explained. "I…I know it sounds cruel, but I didn't mind when he was away. Frankly, I preferred it. But not mum," she murmured sadly.

Sybil listened in shock, saddened by Sarah's words. Good heavens, it sounded positively awful! She suddenly felt very ashamed for all those times she thought her own life was horrid, because she wasn't being allowed to go and work as a nurse. But compared to what sounded like the harsh upbringing that Sarah endured, Sybil suddenly realized how fortunate she was.

"My mother loved my father, very much," Sarah continued. "She always tried to please him, tried to do things to make him happy, to make him stay on land longer, or stay in the house as opposed to going to the pub," her eyes drifted forward, as if she were reliving the memory and seeing everything played out before her. "The strongest memories I have of my mum are of her sitting by the window, staring out at the docks, waiting…waiting for my father to come home; waiting and crying."

"So that's why she was always so sad," Sybil whispered, understanding now what Sarah had meant.

Sarah nodded her head and looked down at her folded hands, resting atop her lap. "Mum died while he was away at sea. I didn't understand; she became very sick and the doctor said I had to go away, but I had no family nearby—the closest being some aunt that lived somewhere in Yorkshire, but who I had never met, even though apparently I was named after her," Sarah explained.

Sybil perked up at this. Sarah had been named after someone in Yorkshire? Of course, who could that be? It wasn't an uncommon name, and Yorkshire was a vast county. Still, it pointed to the possibility that despite what Sarah had said about coming from Liverpool, she had originally come from Yorkshire. That, and the fact that her birthday was sometime in June, just like Sybil's, and that they were both the same age.

The evidence was climbing.

"Where did you go to stay?" Sybil quietly asked, watching Sarah closely.

Sarah's fingers played with a piece of thread from the sleeve of her coat. "There was a neighbor woman who sometimes looked after me, when mum went to find my father, after learning that his boat had docked several days before. But she had seven children, and couldn't afford to keep me for very long. And since my father was away so often…I was sent to a charity school, just outside of Liverpool."

"Charity school?" Sybil gasped. "You mean…like an orphanage?"

Sarah bit her lip but shook her head. "No, it…it wasn't like that, although there were many girls there who didn't have families," she sighed. "It was run by the Church, and…and was a safe place, for us to go. I mean, I learned how to read and write; nothing fancy, I don't know how to speak Latin or French, but we were lucky; once a month someone would even come in to teach us singing and drawing. And every so often, we would have dance lessons too!"

Sybil's heart squeezed for the woman sitting beside her. She felt more ashamed than ever for all the things she had taken for granted with her education. Although in truth, Sarah's school sounded a great deal more interesting than the various governesses she had had, growing up.

"We were taught how to cook, clean, and mend as well," Sarah explained. "Basically how to…well, how to work in service, you see. Because the school only kept girls until they were fourteen. By that time it was expected that you find a job."

"Gracious," Sybil whispered. "So…so you've been working in service all this time?"

Sarah nodded. "I started as a scullery maid for a family in Liverpool. Then two years later, I worked as a kitchen maid, and then became a housemaid, and just when the War started, I served a large house not very far from here."

"And now you work at the Grantham Arms."

Sarah nodded. "It's a good job," she murmured, putting on a smile, although Sybil could tell there was another emotion underneath it, one that she was trying to hide. She was tempted to ask Sarah for the name of the house where she had served before coming to the Grantham Arms, as well as why she worked at the village inn, but held her tongue, knowing she had already pried a great deal from the maid. Yet still, there was something that Sarah was keeping, some sort of secret that she clearly didn't want to share, at least not yet.

"And…your father?" Sybil had noticed that Sarah never mentioned what became of the man after she had been sent away to school. She had a feeling that he made very little, if any contact with her.

"He died while I was at school," Sarah murmured, her head still bowed. "I was told he drowned, but…well, I wouldn't be surprised if that's what he wanted the Church to believe, so he wouldn't be asked to help pay for my stay there," she shrugged her shoulders, showing that there clearly was no love lost between herself and this man who had the title of "father" in her life. "He never wrote to me or visited me; the last time I ever saw him was before mum died."

"Oh Sarah…" Sybil was shaking, her fists clenched in anger at the life this woman—her possible twin—had been forced to live. A life robbed of love and filled with unjust and unfair hardship. She wanted to hug her, while at the same time rage beside her at whoever had snatched her away from the life she could have had, beside her, growing up at Downton as her twin sister.

Upon hearing Sybil's tone, Sarah whipped her head towards her and suddenly rose to her feet, shaking her head vehemently. "Please don't pity me, milady," she begged, although there was a harsh edge to her voice. "I don't deserve it, nor do I feel sorry for myself. My life could have been great deal worse! But I was lucky; most of my teachers at the school were good Christian people, and most of the jobs I've kept were decent enough. I never starved, I never begged, I have never found myself in a situation with absolutely no hope. I'm lucky, really! So please…don't pity me."

Any tears that she might have shed for Sarah were quickly swallowed, and Sybil nodded her head, forcing a smile as well as a look of understanding, or so she hoped. If truth were told, she was amazed by Sarah, amazed that someone who had every right to be angry and perhaps disillusioned by the world seemed so positive and kind. She was strong, and Sybil envied that strength. Indeed, just as she was looking up at Sarah now as she stood beside their bench, she truly did look up to the young woman, hoping that one day she could be as courageous and wise as her.

"I…I'm sorry," Sarah murmured, looking down at her feet again.

Sybil's brow furrowed. "You're sorry? Whatever for?"

Sarah blushed slightly. "For telling you all that; I didn't mean to unburden myself upon you—not that I think my life was a tremendous burden, mind you, I…what I mean is…" she was stumbling over herself, and Sybil quickly rose from the bench, and without a second's thought, reached out and took Sarah's hands in hers.

"You have nothing to apologize for; I should be apologizing to you! I told you I merely wanted to ask you one simple question, and ended up demanding all sorts of answers—"

"You didn't demand anything, milady—"

"Sybil, please."

Sarah blushed but nodded and smiled. "Sybil," she repeated. "No, no, you…you didn't demand anything, I…I didn't mind, really, I just…" she looked down at their clasped hands for the first time and Sybil held her breath, wondering if Sarah would try to pull free. "I don't know, it just…" she looked up into Sybil's eyes then. "This might sound strange but…it felt right, telling you."

Sybil smiled and gently squeezed Sarah's hands. "No, that doesn't sound strange at all."

The two of them smiled, still holding hands and looking at each other, and that feeling, that connection that Sybil had felt the first time they locked eyes and saw one another felt stronger than ever before. _ It must be true…surely it must be true!_

"You said…you wanted to show me something?" Sarah asked, somewhat shyly.

Sybil nodded and still holding one of Sarah's hands, turned and led her through the church yard, passing many old and crumbling headstones, some small, some large, until they reached the center of the church yard, where an oak grove lay, the very oak grove Sybil had mentioned in her letter to Sarah.

"This is the Crawley family plot," she explained. "The oldest stone is over there," she pointed to one that was sunken deep into the earth near one of the trees. "And my grandfather, who was the 4th Earl of Grantham, is buried there." A large stone cross seemed to dominate the grove, and Sarah's eyes widened as she looked at the grave and all the ones that surrounded it. She didn't say anything, but she looked at Sybil with confusion, not sure why she was being shown all of this. "Over here," Sybil murmured, leading Sarah then to a small area of the grove, where two headstones resided, both named but neither occupied.

"Robert and Cora Crawley," Sarah read the names herself.

"The current Earl and Countess of Grantham," Sybil explained.

Sarah turned to look at Sybil with questioning eyes. "Your parents?"

Sybil nodded. "That's right…" she took a deep breath, and looking at Sarah finally spoke what she had been thinking ever since yesterday. "And…and yours too."

Sarah's eyes had wandered back to the stones, but her head whipped around and looked at Sybil with wide, confused eyes full of shock and surprise. "What…what did you say?"

Sybil gripped Sarah's hand, not wanting to let go and lose her now that they were here. "I know this is going to sound absolutely mad, but…please, hear me out," she pointed then to a tiny stone that lay between the two larger stones that bared her parent's names. "See that?" she asked.

Sarah nodded, but her breathing was growing heavier, and she was starting to feel a little light-headed.

"The tenth of June is my birthday," Sybil explained, her hand never letting go of Sarah's. "It also happens to be the birthday…of my twin sister."

Sarah's eyes went even wider and she stared at Sybil, her face paling as the words washed over her.

Sybil turned to fully face Sarah, her hands now gripping the girl's shoulders and forcing her to look at her. "I was born first, just a few minutes before her," she went on. "She was very weak; the doctor didn't think she would survive the night. My parents never saw her; she was taken from them before they could even lay eyes on her."

"Sybil—"

"We were identical twins!" she continued. "The doctor didn't see the baby die, he was told that a baby had died sometime in the night, but the only person who knows the full truth, the nurse who spent the night with the baby, is dead now as well."

"It can't be—"

"But what if it is!?" Sybil's voice was rising with desperation. She wanted Sarah to believe her; that this entire idea wasn't as mad as perhaps it sounded. "How else can you explain that we look exactly alike? Or that we're the same age? And even though you don't know your birthday, you know that you were born in June—"

"But I'm from Liverpool!"

"You were raised in Liverpool, but maybe you were born someplace else? You said so yourself that you had an aunt from Yorkshire, an aunt you were named after! What if your mother came from here? What if she…" she paused, not wanting to sound cruel and imply that the woman who had raised Sarah, at least for the three and a half years of her life, had kidnapped her and taken her from her rightful home, but what other explanation could there be?

Sarah was trembling and shaking her head. "No, no, I…I…it's not possible, I…I'm not…" she looked at Sybil then and her eyes widened even more as a realization seemed to strike her. "I…I'm a housemaid…not…not a Lady."

"Sarah…" Sybil hands moved once again, from Sarah's shoulders now to holding and cupping her face. "We have the same eyes, the same hair, the same complexions; we're even the same height! Physically speaking, we're identical in every way!"

"But…" Sarah's eyes darted to the small stone that had no name. "But…but a baby was buried."

Sybil bit her lip, knowing this was the tricky part, the part that didn't make sense. "Yes, I…I did go and speak to the doctor yesterday, to try and learn more. A baby did die that night and a baby was buried, but…but maybe it wasn't my sister," she whispered, once again holding Sarah's gaze. "Maybe…something happened, and…and my sister went to go and live in Liverpool while another child was buried amongst the Crawley family."

Sarah stared back at her and Sybil held her breath, not sure exactly how the other would respond. She had tried to be as gentle as possible, but at the same time, no one wanted to learn that the life they had been living all this time was quite possibly a lie.

Silence passed between them, until Sarah opened her mouth and murmured, so softly that Sybil barely heard her, "my father always did believe I was another man's child…"

She stared back at Sybil and the two held each other's gazes for a long time. And then…slowly…tears began to fall down Sarah's cheeks. And Sybil's soon followed after.

And without another word, the two women were embracing, hugging each other tightly, crying upon each other's shoulders, clinging to one another as they wept over the lost years spent apart and the wonderful realization of what they had somehow discovered, thanks to a lost child at a village flower show.

"I…" Sarah hiccupped, pulling away slightly and gazing back at Sybil, a tearful smile spreading across her face. "I…I always wanted a sister."

Sybil couldn't help but laugh and nod her head. "That's good to know, because you have two more as well, named Edith and Mary."

Sarah's eyes widened at this. "Oh Lord…the woman who was calling for you at the flower show? She's one of them?"

Sybil nodded. "Lady Edith Strallan; she's also the mother of my—I mean, _our_ niece, the child who found you and—"

"And who thought I was you," Sarah finished, smiling at the memory of the little blonde girl who had tugged on the hem of her dress and had called her "Auntie Thybil".

Sybil nodded. "Mary, our eldest sister, recently married our cousin Matthew, who is Papa's heir. Oh Sarah, they will be coming home soon! This is wonderful; you'll get to meet them all!"

Her words suddenly caused Sarah to pale once more and her knees nearly buckled at the thought. "No…no, no, I…I couldn't."

Sybil looked confused. "What do you mean? They're your family too."

But Sarah shook her head again. "This suddenly seems so overwhelming; I…I mean…I can't believe it!"

Now it was Sybil's turn to pale. "Oh Sarah, please…I…I know this a great deal to accept and take in, but…but please, surely you believe that we are twins, don't you? I mean…besides the fact that we look so alike, I…I have felt the strangest and yet most wonderful connection—"

"So have I," Sarah confessed, looking at Sybil with sincere, loving eyes.

Sybil smiled at this, her vision blurring once again with tears. "Really?"

Sarah nodded, but before losing herself once again to her emotions began to shake her head once more. "But…but I…I can't meet them, I mean…what if they don't believe us? I know you said they never saw the baby, but…but you said so yourself, a baby is buried there, we have no concrete proof that I am a Crawley. What if they think I'm some sort of imposter? Oh Lord, what if they call the police?"

Sybil vehemently shook her head. "They won't, and even if they did, I'm not going to let _anyone_ part us again."

Sarah blushed and smiled at Sybil's passionate declaration, but she still felt uneasy about the whole idea of meeting Lord and Lady Grantham and everyone else connected to the Crawley family, even if they were, technically, her family as well.

"I…I just…I don't know…" she confessed, knowing that she no doubt sounded foolish, but the truth was, she was terrified. Her life had literally changed in a matter of minutes! She had come to this church yard believing she was the daughter of a drunken fisherman, and now she would be leaving it with the knowledge that she very well could possibly be the daughter of the 5th Earl of Grantham! But it was one thing to walk away with this knowledge, and quite another to possibly go and change lives! She didn't know the first thing about being an aristocrat! And what would she say to Mr. Yardley? To Daisy and Mrs. Patmore? Even if it sounded trivial compared to everything else, she hated the thought of just…leaving all of them in the lurch like that.

"Sarah…"

She looked up at Sybil then, and saw that her sister (Lord that sounded so strange, and yet at the same time, it seemed so perfect as well) was looking at her with an expression of one who was plotting and planning something.

"I think I have an idea on how to help 'ease you' into your new family…"


	8. Chapter 8

_ANOTHER UPDATE! (so if you didn't read chapter 7, make sure you do before you read this!) And it's a long one. But it's worth it I think! And it sets everything up for the big "switch-a-roo!" as well as pave the way for the two Toms to finally come onto the scene...you'll see what I mean ;o) ANYWAY thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm so glad people are enjoying this kooky little story, it is a ton of fun to write. And without further ado..._

* * *

_Chapter Eight_

It was truly the most outrageous thing she had ever suggested. And it was not something she had planned ahead of time, the idea just…happened.

"Switch places!?" Sarah had gasped, looking at Sybil in a mixture of shock and disbelief. And perhaps a little bit of horror.

"Yes!" Sybil enthusiastically responded. "We trade places; you go to Downton, and I'll go to the Grantham Arms!"

That look of horror seemed to be growing. "But…_why?"_

"It's perfect, really!" Sybil grinned, trying to not be discouraged by Sarah's hesitance. "You go to Downton, and…well, and see what it's like! Instead of announcing to everyone who you are, you can calmly get to know our parents and sisters and their husbands, and…well, like I said, 'ease into the family'!"

It sounded like a brilliant plan on Sybil's ears. However the look on Sarah's face clearly said the opposite.

"But…I would be pretending to be you."

Sybil nodded. "Yes, and I would go to the Grantham Arms and pretend to be you."

Sarah made a face at this. "No offense mila—Sybil, but…" she looked Sybil up and down rather skeptically. "Do you know anything about housework?"

Sybil stiffened a little at this, but defiantly lifted her chin. "I'll have you know that during the War I volunteered as an auxiliary nurse; I went to York and trained a college there, and during my time I was responsible for taking care of myself, completely. I dressed myself, cleaned up after myself, and even on occasion, was responsible for cooking for myself. And during my nursing I made beds, washed and ironed linens, swept floors, scrubbed pots and tubs..." she folded her arms across her chest, lifting her chin in a somewhat haughty manner. "See? I'm not as helpless as you might think."

Sarah's eyes widened, clearly surprised by Sybil's answer, and perhaps even a little impressed. But she still looked skeptical about the whole idea. "But surely they'll know," she protested. "We may look alike, but…there's no way they would possibly believe that someone like me, who's grown up as a working class girl, is suddenly the daughter of an earl! I mean, look at the way we both stand? You're elegant and refined, and I…" she looked down at herself and frowned.

"You have excellent posture!" Sybil protested. "And really, I slouch all the time, Mama is always telling me to straighten up—"

"But it's more than that, Sybil! I mean, I've seen the way posh people eat at meals, with all those different forks and spoons; I wouldn't know where to begin! And how do I address the other servants? I can't stand the thought of being waited upon, it doesn't seem right—"

"First, I'll have you know that I don't like it either, even though I am used to it," Sybil sighed. "The truth is, I've always tried to speak to the staff at Downton with respect, and treat them as my equals! In fact my best friend is one of the housemaids! And as for dinner etiquette, I can teach you that—"

"Teach me that? When? Where? _How?"_ Sarah challenged. She wasn't trying to crush Sybil's hope, and she would not deny that she could see some merit behind the idea, but how on earth was this whole thing going to work? It was far too elaborate.

Sarah's questions did stump Sybil, but only momentarily. "I know!" she grinned. "The chauffeur's cottage!"

Sarah frowned. "The chauffeur's cottage?"

"Yes, it's the perfect place!" Sybil's grin was growing even wider. "No one is living in it now; our old chauffeur moved out when he retired, and our other chauffeur lives in the village with his family, so the cottage is unoccupied; no one will even think of looking there!"

As Sybil's grin grew, Sarah's frown deepened. "And…what? We meet there and you are to give me lessons on what fork and spoon to use?"

Sybil nodded, still smiling. "Amongst other things. I admit it has been a while since I've done any of those chores that I mentioned earlier, so I can do with some practice too. You can tell me about the specific chores that you do at the inn, and teach me anything that I don't know. And I'll help prepare you for when you meet my family; quiz you on who is who, that sort of thing!"

Sarah was still not convinced. "But I've never stepped foot into Downton! I wouldn't know my way around! And won't that cause some suspicion, this girl who looks like you and who is answering to 'Sybil', but who is completely lost? And there's no way I'm going to be able to remember all the names of your family, _plus_ all the servants, without someone there to help—"

"GWEN!"

Sarah practically stumbled backwards at Sybil's shout. "Gwen?"

"My friend, the housemaid!" Sybil explained. "Gwen; of course! She will help you! She'll be your eyes and ears inside Downton. I still think it's a good idea that I quiz you on who is who, but Gwen will be there to help remind you of any names that you forget, as well as help you make your way around the house—"

"But that means having to explain all of this to your friend!"

"Oh Sarah, don't worry about that! We can trust Gwen; she won't tell anyone, in fact she might be able to help us during our lessons—"

"Sybil," Sarah interrupted, her voice having a somewhat exasperated edge to it. "I was able to go to the flower show on Friday because I had requested the afternoon off well over a month ago. And the Grantham Arms is always a bit slow on Sunday afternoons, but I can't just…leave work in the middle of the day! Not unless I'm ready to hand in my notice, and in truth, I'm not!"

Sybil blinked several times at Sarah's words, and Sarah thought that perhaps she had finally managed to stump her twin. She did feel a little bad about that; after all, as wild and impossible an idea as this all sounded…there was something rather…thrilling about it.

"I know!"

Sarah stared back at Sybil in surprise, not expecting what sounded like an enthusiastic response.

"I'll write a letter to the Grantham Arms; I'll explain that one of housemaids has fallen ill and we're in desperate need of someone to come and temporarily help in the afternoons, just for a few days."

Sarah's eyes widened at Sybil's idea. She truly was determined! Good gracious, Sybil Crawley did not have an understanding of when to "quit". She found it rather…admirable.

"What do you think?" Sybil asked, biting her lip and looking at Sarah expectantly, her blue eyes filled with hope as they searched an identical pair. "Would they allow it, do you think? Your employer? Would they believe it?"

Sarah gazed at the woman standing across from her, and despite her initial misgivings about the whole idea, she couldn't help but grin. "I think you you're not going to give up until you win your way," she stated with a slight giggle. Sybil blushed deeply, but soon she was giggling and giving a bit of a sheepish smile, before nodding her head to Sarah's words, which only earned more laughter. "Alright…" Sarah sighed at last, when the laughter between the two of them finally began to die down.

Sybil's ears perked up at the simple word. "Alright?"

Sarah nodded. "Yes…yes, I'll do it."

"OH!" Sybil gasped, grinning madly before throwing her arms around Sarah. "Thank you, Sarah, thank you! This will be perfect, truly! I know, I know it sounds mad, but I do think this will work! You will get to know our family, they will get to know you, and then when the time is right, we'll tell them the truth, together—and it will be perfect!"

Sarah smiled for her sister, yet she wasn't so sure it was going to be as "perfect" as Sybil seemed to believe. Not to mention that they would be lying to everyone by pretending to be the other. Would Lord and Lady Grantham really accept _her_ if they thought she was Sybil? Still…despite her misgivings (and there were many) the longer she listened to Sybil talk, the more her mind began to wonder what it would be like, walking up and down the corridors of Downton Abbey, and having sisters, not to mention parents who loved their children…

Indeed, it was a very mad scheme. And yet the allure was growing…

"But Sybil…" Sarah finally managed to speak after Sybil's fierce hug. "What about you?"

Sybil frowned, looking a little confused. "Me? What do you mean?"

Sarah tried to explain. _"Why_ do you want to go and work at the Grantham Arms? I mean, I do appreciate the offer, of taking my place so I won't lose my job, but…" she was struggling with putting her thoughts into words. While she understood that Sybil had served as a nurse during the War, and was therefore not a complete stranger to hard work, she did struggle with understanding why her twin seemed to have this…eagerness…to take her place there. Why would any lady want to do that?

It was Sybil's turn now to blush and look down at her feet, somewhat sheepishly. "Well…" she began, taking a deep breath. "The truth is Sarah…I…I don't want this life."

Sarah frowned. "I don't understand."

Sybil bit her lip. A part of her felt horrible for saying this; no doubt she would look ungrateful in Sarah's eyes, especially after the hardships her sister had been forced to endure. Yet Sarah had asked her not to pity her, and by denying her the truth about how she really felt, Sybil saw that as bestowing some form of "unwanted pity". So she squared her shoulders and looked directly into Sarah's blue eyes, a mirror copy of her own, and began to explain.

"I…I've always stood out a little; sort of the 'black sheep' in my family, I suppose," she murmured. "My—I mean, our sisters, Mary and Edith…they always had grand dreams and plans to be ladies of their own houses. Edith is the romantic of the family; she always envisioned a white knight in shining armor coming to take her to a castle in the sky. And Mary, well Mary I think always wanted to be the future Countess of Grantham, and now of course, she will be. Both of them have the lives they wanted, with husbands who love and adore them. And I'm so happy for them, truly!"

Sarah nodded, but continued to listen intently. "But…?"

Sybil sighed. "But that's not the life _I_ want. When the War started, I wasn't satisfied with…well, with doing the things that the daughters of earls were expected to do; host parties and charity concerts, knit socks, pick prizes for raffles, that sort of thing. I wanted to do _real work_, and Cousin Isobel—Matthew's mother," she clarified, "She was a nurse once, so with her help, she found me a training course in York, and that's how I became a nurse! And Sarah…I love it; I love it so much! For the first time in my life I felt I had _purpose!_ I felt…I felt like I was finally doing some good and making a difference! And I didn't want it to end!" Her smile began to fade then, and Sarah felt her heart squeeze with sorrow. She had been leaning close, caught up in Sybil's passion, envisioning her in a nurse's uniform, smiling as she imagined her twin sister rushing around a hospital, caring for patients and no doubt enchanting them with her kind smile and compassionate heart.

"…But it did come to an end," Sybil sighed, sadly. "Please don't misunderstand me; I'm glad the War is over, truly! But…"

"But you wished you could remain a nurse?"

Sybil looked at Sarah and nodded her head, her smile returning, but there was still a great deal of sadness in it. "More than anything…" she whispered. "But…it's not to be, or so I am told. I am 'expected' to follow in Mary and Edith's footsteps; marry a man of good fortune, preferably with a title and estate of his own, and live out the rest of my days as the mistress to said estate." She had practically spat the words out, feeling nothing but disgust at the prospects that awaited her. She remembered Larry Grey and his odious behavior and attitude. And while it was unfair to assume that all gentlemen would be like him (after all, Matthew and Sir Anthony were both lovely and wonderful), her hopes were not that high. After all, she was political! She had opinions! Two things that according to Larry Grey, were most "unbecoming" in a future wife. And she doubted a husband, especially a husband of the aristocracy, would support her desire to go and work as a nurse; no, of course not—she would be expected to manage his house and answer his every desire when he lifted a finger, or so Larry had said.

Ugh, if that was what she was to expect in marriage, she wanted no part of it.

"Oh Sarah," Sybil blushed, feeling rather embarrassed by her little rant, not to mention hating the idea that perhaps she had presented her family—their family, in a bad light. She didn't want to discourage her sister from meeting them! "Oh forgive me, I didn't mean to go and on as I did—"

"Oh please, you don't need to apologize!" Sarah reassured, reaching out and touching Sybil's shoulder. "Certainly not when you're being open and honest; never feel you need to apologize to me for that."

Sybil looked back at Sarah, a warm smile spreading across her face at the reassurance her sister had given her. This is truly the happiest day of my life, Sybil thought to herself. She loved Mary and Edith very much, but she was the baby in their eyes and always would be. But Sarah…her twin sister…they were _equals!_ And even though they had only known each other for a short period of time (hours really), Sybil felt such a connection, such a bond, that it was impossible to describe! But it felt right; and she felt whole.

"So you wish to work again as a nurse," Sarah concluded.

Sybil nodded her head. "I would love that; I…I know it might sound strange, coming from someone like me, but…but I know what it is to work now! _Really_ work, to feel tired at the end of the day after going through long hours and shifts, after doing whatever you can to help and serve others! And…and perhaps that sounds mad, wanting that feeling again, but…but I do."

Sarah actually felt quite emotional, her sister's words being rather inspirational. "No…no, I don't think that's mad at all, if anything…it makes me feel a little ashamed for not finding moments to appreciate—"

"Oh gracious, please don't feel ashamed because of something I said! I confess, I was worried about telling you all this because I thought you would despise me, thinking me some 'poor little rich girl' who has no right to complain about her life—"

"The grass is greener on the other side," Sarah interrupted. Sybil looked confused, so she explained. "It's something I've heard Mrs. Patmore—the cook at the Grantham Arms, say. That 'the grass is greener on the other side', meaning that the life you don't have is always the life that looks more appealing."

Sybil found herself nodding. "Those are very wise words," she murmured. "And there's a lesson of course; a reminder to not take things for granted, which can so easily be done."

Sarah nodded and then looked back at Sybil, finding herself grinning as a thought filled her head. "I think you two would get on, you and Mrs. Patmore, I mean," she giggled. She a feeling that Sybil would appreciate the cook's brashness, even if she was shocked, at first. But the more she was getting to know and learn about her twin sister, the more Sarah was realizing that Sybil Crawley was not like any aristocrat she had ever met. She understood now that Sybil's desire to switch places wasn't just because she wanted to help Sarah ease into knowing the Crawleys (and have a taste of the life she never experienced as a child), but also because Sybil longed to once again have that opportunity to…well, to work! In all fairness this scheme to switch places served them both. But it was more than that, Sarah realized; she wanted to do something that would make her sister _happy!_

"Alright," Sarah said, feeling more determined than ever to go through with this wild plan. It was best to agree to it now, before her anxieties arose once more. "So…tomorrow then? We'll begin our 'training'?"

Sybil giggled but nodded her head. "Yes; I'll have a message sent to the inn this evening, with my 'request' that a certain hotel maid be allowed to help 'serve' at Downton for a few hours every afternoon for the next few days."

Sarah nodded her head, taking a deep breath as she let the whole thing wash over her. _We're doing this; we're actually going to be doing this!_

"But I'll make sure to ask that you come when the inn is not so busy—one o'clock? Two, perhaps?"

"Two," Sarah confirmed. "And so long as I'm back before they start serving supper around six, we should be fine."

"Perfect," Sybil grinned. "And the chauffeur's cottage is just next to the garage; I'll meet you at the gates, near the southern wing of the house. And I'll make sure to bring Gwen as well!"

Sarah swallowed the nervous lump in her throat, but forced a smile and nodded again.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Sybil gasped, giggling at herself. "I need to know your surname, for when I send my message and make my request that you come."

"Oh yes, of course!" Sarah laughed as well. "It's Crawford."

Sybil paused. "Crawford? _Crawford_ is your surname?"

Sarah nodded…and then her eyes began to widen as realization dawned. "Crawford…Crawley—surely that's a coincidence…?"

Sybil found herself shrugging her shoulders, but laughing as well. "Perhaps…" she giggled, her eyes sparkling. "Or maybe it's kismet."

* * *

Two days. That was all they had.

The discovery came to Sybil that evening during dinner, while her parents and grandmother chatted amongst themselves. She was far too excited about her and Sarah's plan, that she had been a poor conversationalist during the meal, not to mention she was paying very little attention to what others were saying. However, when her father grumbled something about how Carson was concerned about the plumbing in the chauffeur's cottage, and whether the place would be ready by Wednesday when the new chauffeur arrived, Sybil's fork made a loud clatter upon her plate, as she stared across the table at her father.

"Wednesday?" she asked, looking at her father in surprise.

He seemed to shift somewhat uncomfortably at the mention of the day, exchanging a quick look with her grandmother, before turning his eyes back to hers. "Yes, the new chauffeur will be arriving on Wednesday; I must say, it will be nice to have someone on the grounds and not have to call Pratt down in the village if the need should ever arise," he said, his focus turning back to her mother and grandmother, who nodded in agreement. However to Sybil, all she could focus on was that one word: Wednesday.

The new chauffeur would be arriving in two days. That meant that the secret location both she and Sarah were going to use would no longer be available to them as of Wednesday morning. That meant they only had two days to learn everything they could, before switching places.

Time was of the essence.

The announcement of the expedited lesson and preparation schedule had come as quite a shock to Sarah, who arrived at the gate near the southern wing of the estate, just a few minutes before two on Monday afternoon as she and Sybil had planned.

"TWO DAYS!?" Sarah gasped, staring at Sybil in horror at this revelation.

Sybil bit her lip and winced. "I know it's not ideal—"

"It's not possible!" Sarah was vehemently shaking her head, trembling at the very thought that in two days she could be thrust into this strange world where she was no longer a servant, but a Lady.

"Oh please don't say that!" Sybil pleaded, reaching forward to grasp Sarah's hands. "Gwen will help you, remember? And really, you just…you just need to get over your nervousness; everything will be fine, you'll see!"

She was trying to sound positive and prayed that her optimism would give Sarah hope, but deep down she was worrying as well. Two days to learn all the trivial things that twenty-two year old aristocratic ladies were expected to know by heart, on top of learning "who was who" inside Downton…it would be a massive feat to accomplish. Not to mention she, herself, needed to brush up on her knowledge of domestic duties, if she wanted to everyone at the Grantham Arms to continue believing that Sarah was still working there.

Sarah still looked doubtful, but she didn't say anything more. She was too busy staring up in awe at the house that lay before her.

_To think…this very well may have been my home…_

Sybil followed Sarah's eyes and found herself looking at the estate in a new light. How daunting it must seem upon first sight, and yet also how majestic. She was still holding one of Sarah's hands, and gave it a gentle squeeze, as well as an encouraging smile, before leading her sister away, carefully making sure to avoid being seen by anyone passing by and looking out the windows, before finally sneaking up to the garage…and the small cottage that lay next door.

"Gwen will be here soon!" Sybil explained as she produced the key she had stolen from Mrs. Hughes out of the pocket of her skirt. She felt guilty for taking it, but it was necessary. Besides, why would Mrs. Hughes need the key to get into the chauffeur's cottage? At least she prayed there were no reasons the Downton housekeeper would wish to enter it.

"Does…does your friend know about me?" Sarah tentatively asked as she unbuttoned her coat once they were inside the cottage.

Sybil fidgeted slightly at Sarah's question. "Sort of…" she guiltily answered. "I didn't say the words, 'my twin sister', but I did say 'someone who is very important to me is coming', and to meet us here at the cottage at two." Sybil recalled the conversation she had had with the housemaid, and how difficult it had been to convince her to sneak out to the cottage. Poor Gwen; she looked so confused by Sybil's request, and unfortunately when she tried to learn more as to why Sybil wanted her to come to the cottage, Sybil remained vague, mainly because she thought Gwen would never believe her unless she saw with her own eyes. In the end, Gwen did agree, but it was obvious she was uneasy about the whole scheme, especially since she didn't know a great deal. But she assured Sybil that she would talk to Anna about covering for her, in case Mrs. Hughes or anyone should ask as to her whereabouts. "Did you have any trouble convincing your employer to spare you?"

Now it was Sarah's turn to fidget. "Not really…" No, she had no trouble from Mr. Yardley, or Mrs. Patmore, although they were confused by the message.

The trouble had come from her roommate, however.

Sybil's message had arrived while the staff of the Grantham Arms was finally able to sit down for their supper. Mr. Yardley entered the kitchens, looking most perplexed by the message that had been sent by one of the Downton hall boys, and quickly showed it to Mrs. Patmore, before turning and looking at Sarah with questioning eyes. She of course knew what the message was, but tried her best to look surprised by the "request" that she come and help for a few afternoons at Downton, until their "ill housemaid" was well, once more. But upon hearing the message, Edna's spoon clattered loudly against her bowl, and she whipped her head around to Sarah and demanded to know "Why on earth are they asking for her, specifically? What is she to them? Why must it be Sarah?" And thus began the asking of all sorts of questions, and Sarah found herself cornered in having to create some sort of story there on the spot, trying to piece together some truths so it wasn't entirely a lie.

"They wanted to know why you were asking specifically for me, so I told them that…that I had met you at the flower show and helped you look for your lost niece; and while doing so, you had learned that I was a housemaid at the Grantham Arms, and thought I was most helpful to you, which therefore would possibly explain why you asked for me to come and help while your 'other housemaid' recovered from her illness."

Sybil's eyes widened, but she smiled at Sarah and even giggled. "A brilliant story! And clearly, it worked!"

Yes, it had, it did seem to satisfy Mr. Yardley and Mrs. Patmore in the end, however Edna was still fuming that she had not been asked to come and help at Downton instead, and had been insufferable that entire night, especially when it came time to go to their room to get some sleep. To escape her roommate alone, Sarah was looking forward to coming to Downton. However she glanced at Sybil with pity, realizing that her sister would soon have to endure Edna's volatile temper. _Oh Lord, I'll have to warn her…_

However, before Sarah could open her mouth to do anything of the sort, a sound was heard at the cottage door, and both sisters turned and held their breath…as the door quickly opened and a redheaded housemaid slipped inside.

"Sorry I'm late!" Gwen apologized. She was too busy turning and shutting the door to look up at them. "Miss O'Brien was in the Servant's Hall, and I had to wait until she left before I could sneak out, not wanting her to raise any questions—"

Her voice came to an abrupt halt when she turned to face them…and she froze as she stared with wide, disbelieving eyes…at the two identical looking women.

She blinked several times, her eyes going back and forth between the two of them. Sarah stood perfectly frozen in place, not even daring to move an eyelash as Gwen looked at her. Sybil took a deep breath, tried to put on a reassuring smile, before taking a tentative step towards her friend. "Gwen, I'd like—"

"SWEET JESUS AND ALL THAT IS HOLY!" Gwen gasped, her hands rising quickly to cover her mouth, as if to prevent herself from screaming as she stared at both Sybil and Sarah.

"Gwen, it's alright!" Sybil moved quickly, rushing to her friend to grasp her shoulders.

"Milady?" Gwen looked at Sybil with confused eyes. She then glanced behind Sybil and looked directly at Sarah. "Who…? I mean…Milady?" she said again, her head whipping back and forth between the two once more, trembling and shaking at the same time. "I…I don't…how…?"

"Gwen, it's me!" Sybil shook Gwen's shoulders, bringing her attention back to her. "I know this is confusing, but please, calm down." She took several deep breaths, hoping Gwen would copy her, which seemed to do the trick. However, Gwen's eyes couldn't help but keep glancing back to the other woman who stood in the nearby shadows of the cottage, biting her lip and looking nervously at the floor.

"Milady?" Gwen whispered, swallowing and looking at Sybil again. "Who…who is…?"

Sybil glanced over her shoulder at Sarah and gave her a reassuring smile, before turning back and looking at Gwen. "Gwen, this is Sarah. She's my sister."

Gwen's eyes widened even more at Sybil's words. "Your…your sister?"

"That's right," Sybil smiled, trying to appear calm the entire time, despite the surprising revelation. "My twin sister."

Gwen looked at Sybil as if she were mad. Her eyes flew once again to Sarah, who was still nervously standing in the corner, looking unsure about what to say or do. "But…" Gwen turned her attention back to Sybil. "But that can't be—?"

"I know it sounds strange," Sybil interrupted, gripping Gwen's shoulders even tighter. "But it's true! And I can explain everything!"

The next thirty minutes were spent doing just that. Sybil coaxed Sarah to emerge from her corner, and then encouraged everyone to sit down on the meager chairs that were in the cottage kitchen. Gwen still looked confused (as well as a bit nervous herself) glancing back and forth between both Sybil and Sarah, as Sybil told the story about how Elizabeth was the one who brought the two twins together at the village flower show. She went on to tell both Gwen and Sarah about the detective work she had been doing, speaking with her mother and Dr. Clarkson, learning all that she could about what had happened to her sister, but discovering that no one who was still living had been present when the child who was buried in the Crawley family plot, had died. She didn't have concrete proof, but Sybil was convinced that something had happened that night, something where Sarah and another child, were traded.

Gwen sat there, looking mesmerized as she listened to Sybil's story. She would keep glancing back and forth between the two twins, and began to silently nod her head at the evidence to which Sybil supplied. It could not be denied that the two women did look exactly the same; save for their clothes, hairstyles, and the way they both sat (Sarah looked very shy, her shoulders slouched and her arms huddled close to her body, while Sybil was leaning forward, expressing herself by moving her arms as she told her story), Sybil and Sarah were, physically speaking, absolutely identical.

"That's amazing, milady…" Gwen finally said after Sybil had finished. She was smiling now, and Sybil breathed a sigh of relief, happy that her friend didn't look as if she were ready to scream in panic, as she had upon first entering the cottage. "So when are you going to tell his Lordship and her Ladyship?"

Sybil bit her lip and glanced at Sarah, who swallowed a nervous lump in her throat, before lowering her eyes again to her folded hands.

"Well…" Sybil began, taking a deep breath. "There's another reason why I asked you to come here Gwen, besides revealing all of this to you. And I know it's going to sound alarming, but I trust you and know you can keep a secret!"

Gwen's smile faded instantly and it did not return as Sybil explained her plan for both she and Sarah to switch places.

No, in fact her face began to change to one of genuine horror as she heard more and more, especially as Sybil reached the part where she asked for Gwen to help be Sarah's eyes and ears at Downton, while she took Sarah's place at the Grantham Arms.

"Milady!" Gwen finally interrupted, adamantly shaking her head to the scheme. "This is too much! Switching places? Pretending to be…the other?"

Sybil's face reddened and she turned to look at Sarah, who was now looking doubtful once again to the entire plan, as she had when Sybil had first proposed it.

"But it's truly for the best, Gwen!" Sybil tried to persuade, while also trying to remain positive, even though doubts were beginning to creep into her own mind now. "I mean, this way Sarah will get to know our parents in a calmly manner, and it will hopefully lessen the shock when the truth is told. And…and…well, someone has to go and serve in Sarah's place at the Grantham Arms, and as you know I truly don't mind the idea of hard work—"

"Milady…" Gwen interrupted again, and the look she was giving her was quite pointed, a look that indicated she knew more than Sybil was letting on. Sybil bit her lip and tried to look anywhere but into Gwen's eyes. Sarah, meanwhile, was fascinated by this exchange. Even though Gwen addressed Sybil as "milady", it was clear that the two were on much more equal footing than what one normally saw between a Lady and a housemaid. That Gwen felt she could speak so freely to Sybil actually brought a smile to Sarah's face, and actually made her feel rather…proud of her sister.

"I know that you wish to return to nursing," Gwen began. "And that you feel your life lacks purpose now that things are back to how they used to be—"

"My life _does_ lack purpose; _this life_ lacks purpose!" Sybil groaned with a roll of her eyes.

"But don't you think this is dangerous?" Gwen insisted, not being deterred by Sybil's comment.

Sybil frowned. "Dangerous?"

Gwen nodded. "Going and working in a strange place! Not to mention staying there!"

"Oh Gwen, it's the Grantham Arms!" Sybil groaned, trying to dismiss her friend's worry. "You speak as if I'm traveling all the way to London by myself—"

"But you said so yourself that I would be Miss Sarah's eyes and ears here; that at least there will be one other person who can keep a watch out for her," Gwen persisted. "But who will be that for you?"

Sybil opened her mouth to answer, but realized she didn't have one. It didn't help when Sarah finally spoke for the first time since meeting Gwen, chirping in a rather uneasy voice, "She's right; I can't ask you to take my place when you don't know anyone—"

"Oh both of you stop, please!" Sybil moaned in frustration. "I went to York not knowing anyone, and it was a much bigger place than the Grantham Arms! I survived my time there, and that was for two whole months! I'll be fine—truly! I'll simply do as Sarah would do; I'll do my assigned chores and stay low, until the time is right to make our announcement to Mama and Papa."

Now it was Sarah and Gwen who exchanged glances, both of which were somewhat uneasy. But both of them could also tell that it was a pointless argument, that Sybil was determined to see this plan through, no matter how many misgivings they had about it. However, something Sybil had said did cause Gwen to pause.

"Milady…how long are you planning on carrying this plan through?"

Sarah looked up at Sybil, realizing that they hadn't really discussed that detail. The two sisters looked at one another, before Sybil turned back to Gwen and gave her answer. "Two weeks."

"TWO WEEKS!?" Gwen gasped, rising so quickly from her chair, that it toppled over. "An entire fortnight!?"

"A fortnight is perfect!" Sybil insisted before turning and smiling at Sarah. "I know it sounds daunting now, but I really think a fortnight is the ideal amount of time for you to get to know Mama and Papa and everyone else. To ease into things, to have them get to know you, and so forth. Don't you think?"

Sarah gazed back at her sister while she contemplated the idea. Yes, it did sound a little daunting, certainly; two weeks where she would be walking around a large, strange house, pretending to be someone else, pretending to know everyone there, pretending to be someone's sister, someone's daughter—even though, technically, that wouldn't be pretense at all; she really was someone's sister and daughter…they just didn't know it yet.

Yes, two weeks did seem a little daunting, but really…it wasn't that long a period. And no doubt, she would look back upon this fortnight and realize how quickly it had all gone by in a blink.

"Alright," Sarah agreed, nodding her head and feeling some of her confidence return at the sight of Sybil's smile. "A fortnight should be perfect."

Sybil grinned and squeezed Sarah's hands in hers, before turning back to look at Gwen, who was still looking quite wary about the whole idea, but who also looked resigned to it as well. "So when do we begin?" she sighed.

Sybil grinned, and reached across the table for Gwen's hand, grateful when her friend took it. "Right now."

* * *

The rest of their Monday afternoon was spent preparing and helping Sarah for her "Downton debut". Gwen could not stay with them the entire afternoon, for fear of making Mrs. Hughes or any of the other servants suspicious, but she helped where she could, providing names of the different servants that she believed Sarah as Sybil would have the most interaction with.

"I'll try to make sure that I'm the one who comes to help you dress every day," Gwen explained, however she couldn't guarantee that would always be the case. Thankfully, there was really only one other maid that Sarah would have to deal with in that situation, and both Gwen and Sybil reassured her that Anna was very sweet and kind.

After Gwen left, Sybil decided to help Sarah conquer "table etiquette", and proceeded to lay out a place setting on the table, gathering every sort of utensil and glass she could think of, although it was a bit difficult, taking the items from cupboard without either Mrs. Hughes or Carson's notice.

"I don't know if I'll ever understand why posh people use so many different forks," Sarah groaned, following Sybil's advice on "working from the outside in". Sybil also explained all the different courses of food that they would have, as well as the different wines they would drink to go with each course. Poor Sarah's eyes widened with horror at the list of wines, fearing she would fall drunk on her first night and reveal everything, but Sybil reassured her that with the exception of a few sips here and there, a great deal wasn't consumed.

The afternoon ended with Sybil showing Sarah several framed photographs that she had brought to the cottage from her room, each showing a different portrait of a Downton family member. Sarah gasped at the loveliness of her two older sisters, both photographs taken from their perspective weddings (along with their perspective husbands). "Mary is the eldest, and she's the one married to Mr. Crawley, who is your father's heir," Sarah murmured.

"_Our_ father," Sybil corrected. "And Mr. Crawley's name Matthew. He's very pleasant and kind; you'll like him right away."

Sarah smiled at this and then looked at the portrait of Edith and Sir Anthony Strallan, grinning as she instantly saw the resemblance that the little girl had between both her parents. The next photograph was a picture of Violet Crawley, the Dowager Countess of Grantham. Sarah confessed to Sybil that she found the woman to be quite formidable looking, but Sybil reassured her not to be afraid, that their grandmother's bark was worse than her bite.

The last portrait was one of the current Earl and Countess of Grantham. Sarah stared at this photograph the longest, and actually felt an emotional lump well up in her throat as she stared back at the faces of her parents.

Yes…she knew for certain now that it had to be true. These were her parents; her _parents_. While the woman whom she had always thought to have been her mother had been kind to her, Sarah always felt that, sadly, if her mother were forced to make a choice, she would choose her father over her, every time. And as for her father, well, he made it quite clear that he never cared for her, so there was no love lost with him. But these people…these faces that were staring back at her from the photograph...she had not yet met them, and yet she believed, truly…she could love them.

_And maybe they will love me?_

The time finally came when Sarah had to return to the Grantham Arms. But that whole night, while she finished the last of her chores, ate her supper, and prepared for bed, she kept going over and over all the names she had been given by both Sybil and Gwen.

"Daydreaming about your new job?" Edna enviously grumbled. "Suppose you think you're too good for us now."

Sarah ignored her roommate, but vowed to herself as she settled into bed, to be sure to warn Sybil about Edna when they next met.

Tuesday was different, in the sense that it was a great deal more intense for both Crawley twins. After all, this was their last day to prepare! As of tomorrow…they would officially become the other.

Sarah still had misgivings; it didn't seem as if there was enough time, but what could be done, really? Where else could they meet? The chauffeur's cottage was really the only place.

Sarah went over details with Sybil about what sorts of chores she would have to do at the Grantham Arms. Thankfully, Sybil's nursing experience did come in handy, at least from the perspective of cleaning and looking after things. There were twenty rooms total, and she would be responsible for cleaning ten of them. Every day the sheets needed to be washed, dried, ironed, and changed. Every day the floors needed to be swept and mopped and the shelves would need dusting. Bathing tubs resided in a store room, which meant there was no indoor bathroom. Sybil was relieved to know that only if the guest were a woman, would she be responsible for bringing up the tub and filling it, otherwise the duty would fall to a hall boy. However, it was the maid's duty to scrub and clean the tub after it had been used, as well as clean and polish the basins and pitchers and make sure they had fresh water and towels, every day.

It was a great deal of work, but Sybil felt she was up to the task. The only thing that she had no previous knowledge on was how to light a fire, and so Sarah patiently tried to teach Sybil how to do that, which took nearly an entire hour before Sybil was able to get so much as a spark, using the dry wood that was already residing in the fireplace at the cottage.

As they worked, Sarah told Sybil about the other members of staff at the Grantham Arms. Her list was nowhere near as daunting as the list of servants at Downton, but Sybil repeated the names over and over as Sarah described each person. "Mrs. Patmore can be brash, but I think you'll get on," Sarah explained. "And Daisy is very sweet; yet I fear she struggles with keeping a secret. I wish I could provide you with someone who could be your confidant the way Gwen will be for me—"

"Oh not to worry, I'm sure I can manage!" Sybil smiled, trying not to show her nervousness.

"Still…" Sarah nibbled her lip. "I know I would feel at ease if we could somehow arrange to meet, to check with the other to make sure everything is alright."

Sybil saw the wisdom in that idea and quickly nodded her head. "Perhaps on Sunday again? In the church yard at three o'clock?"

"Perfect," Sarah grinned, feeling very much relieved at the thought. She couldn't stand the idea of not being able to see Sybil during these next two weeks. And despite Sybil's optimism, she worried for her sister; worried that her work at the Grantham Arms might overwhelm her, and wanted to provide any help if she was able. Which reminded her that she really needed to tell Sybil about Edna.

However, before she could do just that…both women paused as they realized that the room was filling with…smoke?

"Good heavens!" Sybil coughed. "What in the world…?"

"The fireplace!" Sarah gasped, pointing to where she had given Sybil her lesson on how to light a fire. "The chimney must be stopped up!"

Indeed, the room was filling with even more smoke, and both women tried to cover their mouths and noses, while waving their arms through the smoke so they could see.

"We need to put it out!" Sarah coughed.

Sybil nodded and moved immediately to the small sink in cottage kitchen and turned the tabs to get some water.

Nothing happened.

And that was when she remembered her father saying something about how Carson was concerned for the plumbing in the chauffeur's cottage.

"There's no water," she whispered to herself, before turning and squinting through the smoke at her sister. "There's no water!"

"What?" Sarah gasped, coughing even louder than before. It was getting worse; they could barely see each other, let alone breathe.

"We'll have to…" Sybil coughed, running into the chauffeur's bedroom and grabbing an old blanket that lay folded on the end. "Here! We'll have to snuff it out!"

"Sybil, I can't see!" Sarah coughed even louder than before. "We need to leave!"

"First use this!" Sybil did her best to follow the sounds of her sister coughing, and upon reaching the fireplace, unfolded the blanket and shook it out to do the very thing she had announced that they would do.

Unfortunately the motion of shaking the blanket seemed to only fan the flames even more. And both girls screamed when an end of the blanket caught one of those flames, and immediately began to burn right through the old material.

"Drop it!" Sarah gasped. Sybil didn't need to be told twice.

They coughed and stumbled, but eventually made it outside, gasping for air and panting as they recovered from their ordeal, leaning against the side of the cottage.

However, any relief they have been feeling vanished quickly when Sybil looked up and noticed that Thomas and O'Brien were standing not so far away, talking and smoking near the servant's entrance. "Oh no," Sybil groaned, tugging on Sarah's sleeve. "Come on, we can't stand here; we'll be seen!"

Sure enough, as soon as Sybil began dragging Sarah away, a loud shout was heard, and the yard and drive between the house and the Downton garage and chauffeur's cottage, was quickly flooded with hall boys, carrying pails of water, Carson shouting over everyone, directing them to put out the fire before it engulfed the garage and damaged his Lordship's cars.

Sybil and Sarah watched the ordeal from a safe distance, hiding behind several trees. "Oh dear…" Sybil sighed, feeling horrible and knowing this was entirely her fault.

"You're no more to blame than I am," Sarah reassured, as if reading her sister's thoughts. "Besides, I should have checked the chimney."

Sybil shook her head. "That cottage hasn't been used in months; perhaps we did some good? Who knows what would have happened to the poor chauffeur when he moved in."

"Yes, but he can hardly stay there now, can he?" Sarah sighed.

The lessons were over now. Both girls parted then, hugging and making plans to meet at the gates around two o'clock the following day as they normally had been during the week. The only difference was Sarah would be the one staying at Downton Abbey, while Sybil would be the one returning to the Grantham Arms.

That evening, Sybil felt far too nervous about the upcoming day, and her stomach was twisted in so many knots, that she declined dinner and went straight to bed. It was just as well, since the entire conversation at dinner was her father fuming about the mysterious fire that had nearly destroyed the chauffeur's cottage.

"Carson is conducting an investigation as we speak," Robert growled, stabbing at his chicken with his fork. "There was evidence that SOMEONE had been in there; kitchen utensils were found, as well a few other items, certainly not things kept within the cottage," his fork clattered angrily against his plate. "This is an utter disaster! If someone thought this was a joke, I can assure you it's not!"

"Robert, calm down," Cora tried to reason, looking at her husband from across the table.

"It's an unnecessary expense!" Robert groaned, his hand rising to rub the bridge of his nose, the headache coming on fast. "The smoke did tremendous damage to the cottage—I'm not sure when it will be suitable for anyone to live in. And there are no rooms available in the Servant's Quarters, Carson's already checked! Unless we ask several of the lads to 'bunk up'; the only available rooms are in the maid's quarters, and we know that's out of the question!"

Cora frowned at this. "Nothing in the male wing? Even with our shortage of footmen?"

Robert groaned. "There are rooms, but when the house was a convalescent home, those extra rooms were used for storage, and so they remain. Not to mention we have no more beds!" he threw his napkin down on his plate, his appetite gone. "I'm at an utter loss!"

"Oh Robert, you make mountains out of molehills," Violet sighed. He turned to look at his mother who was patiently sipping her wine. "The answer is quite plain; simply have the chauffeur stay in the village until the cottage is repaired."

Robert stared at his mother, his headache not lessening. "Stay in the village?" he repeated. "Where, Mama? Ask him to 'bunk up' with Pratt?"

"Oh don't be ridiculous," Violet said dismissively, not caring for her son's sarcasm. "Certainly not; have him stay at the Grantham Arms—why, I'll even pay for his room while he's there. Two weeks should do it, don't you think?"

Robert frowned. "Two weeks?"

"Two weeks to have the cottage fully repaired and back to normal," Violet explained, trying her best not to mimic her youngest granddaughter by doing something as uncouth as roll one's eyes.

"That sounds reasonable; don't you think so, Robert?" Cora murmured, turning to her husband and offering him a pleasant smile, hoping it would encourage him to accept the offer and give him some peace of mind on the whole matter. After all, tomorrow was going to be a rather strenuous day with Mary and Matthew returning, as well as the arrival of Mr. Bellasis.

"Yes, very well," Robert sighed, putting on a smile for his mother's sake. "Thank you for your generosity, Mama."

Violet once again waved her hand dismissively as she took another sip of her wine. "Oh please, I don't know if putting that man up at the Grantham Arms is 'generous'; it's not as if he were staying at a luxury hotel."

"It will feel like a luxury hotel compared to that cottage," Robert groaned, still angry and upset as to what had happened, not to mention a little embarrassed that once again, something had slipped from his control.

"True," Violet sighed. "Perhaps I am judging the inn too harshly; perhaps he will discover some 'unknown treasure' and become enchanted with the place and never wish to leave?"

* * *

_Guess who's coming to Downton in the next chapter? ;o)_


	9. Chapter 9

_Ack! I know, this is much longer than I had intended, but it's worth it! At least I hope you will agree! HERE IT IS! The day has finally come when both Sybil and Sarah switch places! But that's not all, of course; some new faces are arriving too ;o) guess you'll have to read to find out more! Bwhahahahaha! *dashing away*_

* * *

_Chapter Nine_

"Tommy!"

Tom Branson lifted his head at the sound of his brother's voice echoing off the walls of the tiny Liverpool flat. He had just been agonizing over what books he would have to leave behind, as he didn't have enough room in his simple trunk to take all seven of them. He was grateful for the delay in the decision and went out into the corridor to see why his brother was shouting.

"Telegram came for you!" Kieran Branson announced, waving a tiny piece of yellow paper. "From _that_ place."

Tom suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at his brother's sneer and walked across the room to snatch the paper from him. "It's not like the Almighty is going to smite you for saying the words 'Downton Abbey'," he groaned.

"This coming from the revolutionary."

"Kieran, how many times do I have to tell you? I'm a socialist, not a revolutionary!"

Kieran snorted. "What's the difference?"

Tom groaned, refusing to get into yet another pedantic argument with his eldest brother. He knew the real reason behind Kieran's sourness about him taking the job in Yorkshire, and it had nothing to do with working for posh aristocrats, but everything to do with personal family pride.

"You know you don't have to do this, Tommy…"

Tom sighed and glanced up at Kieran. "I do, actually."

"We can manage! Colleen and I have discussed this and I've gone through the books! Things aren't as bad as you think; besides, Michael will begin his apprenticeship to Mr. Donnelly—"

"If you think I'm going to allow my eldest nephew to work his fingers raw just so I can stay under this roof, you don't know me very well," Tom interrupted, eyeing his brother. He was truly grateful for all that Kieran had done for him in helping him find work in England. He began as a chauffeur for an old lady, and served as her driver for four and a half months, until her passing. Since then, Kieran had found him some work in his garage, but just barely. His brother couldn't pay him the amount he wished to pay Tom, and Tom felt guilty about taking his brother's money. Not to mention the flat that resided just above the garage was cramped even further with his presence. No, he needed to go; he had imposed on his brother's hospitality long enough, it was time for him to find something on his own, even if that meant leaving Liverpool. Besides, he always saw this move to England as a temporary one; he wasn't going to be a chauffeur or mechanic all his life, even though he did enjoy working with cars. He was going to make something of himself…he just needed to figure out what that was.

"Go on, what does his great and powerful Lordship have to say?" Kieran asked, folding his arms across his broad chest and leaning against the doorframe. "Are they having second thoughts about you? Decided that you're too radical? Too republican? Too Irish for the likes of them?"

"Ha, ha," Tom reached out and shoved Kieran's shoulder. "Actually they're simply telling me that when I arrive, to go straight to the village inn: the Grantham Arms."

Kieran frowned at this. "Why do they want you to go to the inn?"

"Something to do with the chauffeur's cottage," Tom shrugged. "Doesn't say; but it says that Lord Grantham meet me in person at the inn, to simply give my name to the innkeeper and he'll explain everything then."

Kieran snorted again. "This has all the makings of a bad omen."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Stop acting like Mam and thinking the worst of things."

"Speaking of Mam, that reminds me," Kieran began, pushing himself away from the doorframe and producing an opened letter from his waistcoat pocket. "This arrived yesterday in the evening post; says she wants to come and visit, that 'she misses her blue-eyed baby boy'," he laughed, emphasizing the last words in a ridiculous high-pitched voice while puckering his lips and smacking them in the air near Tom's head.

"Feck off," Tom groaned, giving Kieran another shove, but chuckling as well.

Kieran only laughed harder. "Nice to know where I rank in things; after wanting to see you again, she mentions the children, followed by Colleen…and oh! There I am, right at the bottom."

"Can you blame her?" Tom cheekily replied, laughing as Kieran was now the one doing the shoving.

"I take it all back; good riddance!"

Both brothers laughed then, and not for the first time, did Tom look at Kieran with a mixture of admiration and affection. There was a thirteen year difference between the two of them, and in many ways, Kieran had been the father he had never known or had. All of the Branson siblings looked out for one another, but Kieran took a special interest in him, whether it was teaching him how to tie his laces, or how to drive a car when he was only twelve! When his brother had announced he would be going to Liverpool for work and to give his family a fresh start, Tom was devastated. But he understood why; they all did.

Family first, self second; that was the Branson creed.

That was why Tom had left Ireland, and why he was leaving Liverpool now. It was his turn to give back to the family that had sacrificed so much for his care and upbringing. It was his turn to look after them.

"So you think you can convince Lord G to give you a weekend to spare whenever Mam comes to visit?"

Tom smiled and nodded his head. "Aye, I think that can be arranged. Or better yet, maybe you can come visit me in Yorkshire?"

"Visit you? HA!" Kieran laughed. "Shall we be guests of the Earl and Countess? Will they invite us to tea?"

"Don't be an arse," Tom muttered, shoving his brother one more time towards the door. "Now let me finish packing! My train leaves in less than an hour."

Kieran chuckled, despite the sad thought of having to say goodbye to his baby brother. "Alright, I'll mention the idea to Mam when I write her back, but with the exception of seeing you again, I can't imagine any other reason why she would want to step foot into Yorkshire."

* * *

She had been awake for hours, long before her alarm clock chimed. She hadn't gotten out of bed, not yet; she was trying to memorize this feeling of lying on her soft yet firm mattress, in the middle of her somewhat large bed, in a room that she still had to herself. Though Sarah hadn't said anything, Sybil assumed she would be sharing a room with another servant girl at the Grantham Arms. She also assumed the bed would be smaller, like the one Gwen kept.

It was all going to be very different. Tonight she would be sleeping under a different roof and on a different bed. Starting today, she would leave behind her true name and become "Miss Sarah Crawford", a hotel chambermaid of little consequence, at least in the eyes of Society.

It was both very nerve wracking, and very exciting!

A soft knock was heard on her door, and Sybil knew even before she opened it that it was Gwen. She smiled at her friend, who forced a smile of her own, although Gwen looked even more nervous than Sybil was feeling. It was plain to see that the housemaid was still unsure about this whole scheme, but despite her personal feelings, she didn't try to talk Sybil out of it.

"Couldn't sleep?" she softly asked, shutting the door behind her.

Sybil gave a sheepish smile and shook her head. "I've been awake since before the sun came up!" she confessed.

"That's good," Gwen sighed, her eyes going to the window. "Because for the next two weeks, you'll be rising before the sun is up too."

Sybil nodded her head, giggling softly. "I'm not a complete stranger to early mornings, Gwen; I did rise before sunup for shifts at the hospital during the War."

"But that wasn't every day," Gwen reminded her. "I have a feeling you're going to be very exhausted after three days."

"You'll not discourage me, Gwen Dawson," Sybil teased, poking her tongue out. "And I certainly hope so! That is the point, after all." She pushed the blankets back and finally rose from the bed. "I know it sounds incredibly naïve, but…I want to work, I…I want to feel tired after a long day of doing something with my hands!"

Gwen sighed and shook her head. "Well, have no fear of that, milady. Based on everything that Miss Sarah said, I don't think you're in danger of ever feeling idle."

Sybil smiled and reached forward to take both of Gwen's hands. "Thank you Gwen, for agreeing to this mad scheme. I know you're not thrilled with it—" Gwen snorted, but gave a small giggle to which Sybil smiled. "But thank you just the same, especially for helping Sarah. I do feel so much better knowing that you will be looking after her." She squeezed the housemaid's hands affectionately, before giving a resolute sigh, and quickly crossing the room to her wardrobe, looking for a simple carpet bag to pack a few items in. She knew she shouldn't take much; after all, she would be wearing Sarah's dresses and Sarah's shoes. The only thing she was really packing was some intimates, plus a few toiletries, but even then she had to be careful. Nothing that looked as if it came from Downton could enter the Grantham Arms, not even her favorite books.

She wasn't going as Sybil Crawley, but as Sarah Crawford, and she needed to remember that.

"His Lordship was fuming all last night about the cottage," Gwen told her as she helped Sybil pack.

Sybil bit her lip, her face growing hot with guilt. "Does he have any suspicions?"

Gwen shook her head. "Mr. Carson is going to be drilling all of us over the next few days to see if we know anything about it. But I did hear a theory going around late last night that maybe it was some gypsies who got in and started a fire, not realizing that the chimney was stuffed and thus ran away before things got bad."

Sybil felt awful about what had happened at the chauffeur's cottage. She felt even worse thinking that her carelessness may get one of the servants in trouble.

"I think it's going to be alright, milady," Gwen reassured. "By the end of the evening, Mr. Carson seemed to be leaning towards the gypsy story; besides, in some ways it's just as well that that it happened. Imagine the nasty surprise the poor chauffeur would encounter if he had tried to light a fire!"

That was certainly the excuse Sybil had been trying to tell herself ever since the fireplace debacle had occurred. Perhaps in an odd way, she had saved the unknown chauffeur's life?

"Well…if for some reason things escalate to the point where Carson or Papa do seem to be the verge of sacking someone, let me know—or let Sarah know and…well…we'll figure something out," she tried to explain, frowning as she wondered how they would get messages of such a serious nature to one another if the need arose. "But I will step forward then and put a stop to it all." She just prayed it wouldn't come to that. She had her hopes set so high! She wanted this mad scheme to work, both for Sarah's sake, and, selfishly, for her own sanity.

_Just give me these two weeks; two weeks of freedom where I can live and work and not have to face the dire prospect of a future where I am nothing but some man's wife._ She was hopeful that perhaps her family (no doubt after some harsh scolding) would be so moved at finally being reunited with the daughter whom they thought was dead, that they would also in some way be impressed with how she had managed to live and take care of herself completely on her own. Then…_maybe then_, they could revisit the possibility of her becoming a nurse somewhere.

"So when will it happen?" Gwen nervously asked.

Sybil took a deep breath and glanced at her clock before closing the carpet bag. "After luncheon," she murmured. "The next time you see my face, it will actually be Sarah's."

* * *

She was running late. Sarah groaned as she darted down the lane, lugging a small bag with her that only carried a few meager items. _I can't believe I'm doing this, I can't believe I'm doing this!_ But she was. She was on her way to Downton Abbey, where she would switch places with her twin sister and become Lady Sybil Crawley.

Oh God, she was terrified! Last night she had barely gotten any sleep, her mind flitting about as she tried to recall all the names she had been taught, who on the staff did what job, what bloody fork was used to eat fish, and what wine went with each course. The details were a jumbled mess, and there were a few times when she had stopped walking and considered turning around and going straight back to the Grantham Arms, sending some sort of apology to Sybil and telling her that she couldn't do it.

But every time the fear and nerves seemed so overwhelming, Sarah found herself recalling the photographs Sybil had shown her, in particular the one featuring his Lordship and her Ladyship.

Her parents. _Her birth parents._

She had lived so much of her life without a mother or father, and the few memories that she had were not the most pleasant. The man whom she had always thought to be her father never loved her, and the woman whom she knew a part of her would forever think of and call "mother", had always been so sad and had died when Sarah was so young. In many ways, the teachers at the charity school had been more her parents than the Crawfords. And now here she was, on the road to Downton Abbey, the grand manor house that would have been her home, and for the next two weeks at least…was.

And it was that thought, that memory about looking at the faces of Robert and Cora Crawley, that ultimately kept Sarah moving forward.

However that wasn't the reason she was running late.

Edna was in a right snit.

Actually, Edna had been in a right snit ever since Sarah had received her "letter" from Sybil, requesting her help for the next few days at Downton Abbey while "a housemaid" recovered from some sort of illness.

_"Why do they want her? She hasn't even been here for more than three months! IT'S NOT FAIR!"_

Oh if only that had been the end of it. But every night, Edna would mutter about how Sarah thought she was "better" than the rest of them, because she was now working over at his Lordship's estate. Sarah rolled her eyes and did her best to ignore Edna's snide comments, but it didn't stop there. Edna tried to stir up trouble, going to Mr. Yardley and complaining that she was shirking all of her responsibilities, that she, meaning Edna, was picking up the slack, cleaning extra rooms, doing extra rounds of laundry, doing more than her share because there was now only one maid in the afternoons at the inn. And Edna was a brilliant manipulator, because she wove her story in such a way that she convinced Mr. Yardley in the end to take Edna's "extra work" out of Sarah's wages and give it to the blonde chambermaid.

It annoyed Sarah greatly, but it annoyed her even more that Edna was blatantly lying about doing these extra chores. In all the time she had known her roommate, Sarah knew that Edna was the sort who tried to get away with doing the bare minimum if it were possible. No, Edna Braithwaite had always had her sights set on "bigger things", whatever that meant. She just needed to find the right man to help her achieve them…

Even though Sarah had told everyone that today was her "last day" to go and "serve" at Downton Abbey, Edna had done enough to make Mr. Yardley remind her that first and foremost, she was a chambermaid to the Grantham Arms, and unless she wanted to become a housemaid to the Earl of Grantham, she needed to see to her responsibilities to the inn before anything else.

He had said this to her last night, and she knew that it meant waking up at least an hour earlier to get started on her share of the chores.

She spotted Edna sitting the kitchens, enjoying a cup of tea and sighing happily, while she passed by with an armful of laundry. Oh how tempting it was to throw the sheets into the woman's face! To stand tall with her hands on her hips and declare, "I am a daughter to the Earl and Countess of Grantham! And you will show me respect!"

But she didn't, of course. No one would believe her. Edna would probably laugh at her, before going to Mr. Yardley and making up some story, convincing him with her crocodile tears.

That was another reason as to why she kept moving forward, although her heart sank as she imagined poor Sybil having to deal with that horrible woman.

As soon as the gates to the house came into view, Sarah quickened her steps, looking all around, making sure no gardener was in sight, not wanting anyone to be aware of the secret plan both she and her twin were about to see through. "Sybil?" she whispered, approaching the gates and looking every which way. She didn't see her sister anywhere! Oh no, had something happened? Had Sybil have a change of heart?

"There you are!" Sybil gasped, coming forward from behind a small grove of trees. Her appearance was so sudden that Sarah jumped, her hand going to her chest to try and calm herself. "Sorry," Sybil apologized. "I had to hide; some of the stable lads were bringing the horses in from the pastures beyond."

Sarah nodded her head with understanding. "No, I'm sorry; I know that I'm late, but I couldn't get away any sooner due to work—"

"Oh Sarah, it's alright!" Sybil grinned, not looking upset in the slightest. "You're here now, so that makes me glad! And Gwen is ready and waiting for you; just go over there to that entrance," she pointed to what looked like a small patio door near the edge of the gardens. "Carson and a few hall boys saw me exit that door; I made mention that I wanted to go for a little walk. They won't be surprised to see you coming in that way if they're still about."

Sarah swallowed and nodded her head, trying to be brave even though her heart was beating so fast, she was sure Sybil could hear it.

"Well…we best exchange our coats, don't you think?"

Sarah's eyes flew back to those of her sister's. "Oh! Oh yes, of course…"

That had been their plan. They would meet at the gate, and put on one another's coats and hats, doing their best to fool the world into thinking one was the other. Sarah gazed at the beautiful blue coat to which Sybil handed her, her fingers running over the soft material. She never worn something so fine!

"Sarah?"

Sarah lifted her eyes and gasped, realizing that Sybil was waiting for her to hand over her own coat. "Sorry," she sheepishly mumbled, quickly divesting herself of the plaid jacket, the same one she had worn to the flower show. Sybil only smiled and gave her hand a squeeze, before slipping the coat over herself. Sarah was quick to notice that Sybil was wearing a simple pink blouse and gray skirt. No doubt her sister thought these to be very plain clothes, but they were still very fine compared to the dresses that she owned. And they certainly showed no signs of wear or tear, something that a keen eye would quickly notice.

"Before you do anything, the second you reach the Grantham Arms, change clothes right away!" Sarah advised.

Sybil looked surprised, and frowned as she looked down at herself. "But…these are my work clothes—"

"Those are work clothes for _a lady,"_ Sarah interrupted. "Not a housemaid."

Sybil was still frowning, but she nodded her head and promised she would change as soon as she arrived. Sarah had told her the previous day how to navigate herself around the Grantham Arms, that the tiny staircase immediately to the left, just inside the kitchens, went straight up to the servant's quarters. _And Edna shouldn't be up there; despite what she may wish others to believe, Mrs. Patmore would make sure she was working…_

"Alright, now our hats," Sybil announced, carefully removing her own little blue hat, that perfectly matched her jacket, and handing it to Sarah with a smile.

Sarah swallowed, thinking about the hat that rest on top of her head. She knew it was necessary to make the transformation complete, but at the same time, it the hat was all she had left of her mother—well, of the woman who until quite recently, she had believed to be her mother, and who, in her own way to a part of her, always would be.

Sybil noticed the hesitance, and offered her sister a kind smile. "I'll be very careful, I promise."

Sarah forced a smile and nodded her head. "Sorry, I…it's just…" she didn't quite know how to explain it for Sybil to understand, but thankfully she didn't have to. Sybil simply reached out, gave Sarah's hand a reassuring squeeze, and Sarah knew that was enough.

Sybil carefully placed the burgundy hat on her head, securing it with the hat pin that Sarah had, while Sarah slipped on Sybil's blue cap, as well as the cream colored gloves Sybil had been wearing. From the outside, the change was complete. Sybil had assured Sarah she would wear her hair in a very simple manner, one similar to Sarah's style, so no one would notice a difference there, if anyone did. Sybil also wore little make-up, so truly, if one didn't know any better…one wouldn't realize that the woman known as Lady Sybil Crawley was dressed in a servant's coat, while the woman known as Miss Sarah Crawford, looked like an aristocrat.

This was it. Now all that needed to be done was for Sybil to exit the gates and for Sarah to enter the house.

"Well…" Sybil said, taking a deep breath and smiling at her sister in nervous excitement. "Until Sunday!"

"Sunday…" Sarah whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat once again. Sunday seemed so far away. She would have to get through the rest of today, not to mention the next three days until Sunday. And even then, they wouldn't be finished with their little "experiment" for another week and a half!

"You'll be fine," Sybil reassured, sensing Sarah's nervousness, and reached out and grasped her sister's shoulders. The second she had, Sarah launched herself at Sybil, wrapping her arms tightly around her sister and hugging her close, doing her best to fight the tears that threatened to fall. Sybil did not hesitate to return the embrace, and hugged her back, running a soothing hand up and down Sarah's back, murmuring over and over that she was going to be fine.

"I know, I know," Sarah gasped, swallowing her tears and forcing a smile as she leaned away from her sister. "You're right, it will." Perhaps if she kept telling herself that over and over it would happen? Or at the very least she would have the confidence her twin seemed to have?

"Remember, Gwen will help you."

Sarah nodded her head, although she couldn't help but wonder who would help Sybil? Yet if Sybil was worried about that, she didn't act like it. Truly, her twin sister was fearless! She couldn't help but smile and find her admirable.

"Good luck," Sybil grinned, leaning in and kissing her sister's cheek. "Although I don't think you're going to need it."

Oh if only she could be so confident. Sarah watched with a pounding heart as Sybil turned at last, slipping out past the gates, giving Sarah a smile and a final wave, before turning to head down the lane Sarah had been walking just a little while ago.

"Sybil!"

Sybil stopped and turned, her eyes wide and her face full of concern at the rather desperate way Sarah had gasped her name.

Sarah swallowed, staring back at her sister for a moment, before finally uttering the words she had been feeling for quite some time. "I love you."

Sybil stared at her, and slowly a warm, loving smile spread across her face. "And I love you," she murmured back, bringing her fingers to her lips and blowing a kiss towards her.

Sarah smiled and stood there for a few moments as she watched Sybil wave and once again turn towards the lane. She waited until Sybil was nearly out of sight, before turning herself towards the giant house that stood waiting for her. _Dear Lord, give me the strength for what I am about to do,_ she prayed. And with that, she walked towards the house.

* * *

"Oh! Oh they're here, Robert they're here!" Cora gasped, grinning madly as she looked out the drawing room window as a car could be seen in the distance.

Robert put down his newspaper at the sound of his wife's anxious voice and stood to look out the window, his eyes widening at the sight of the approaching automobile. "Good heavens, where did Matthew get that?"

"Oh who cares about all that," Cora groaned, moving quickly into the Hall, Carson already prepared with the door open as she rushed outside, her smile only growing more and more as the shiny Rolls-Royce approached. It may not be regarded as "suitable" behavior for the Countess of Grantham, but Cora didn't care; she waved her arms and smiled as her eldest daughter and husband came to a stop just a few feet away.

"Welcome home darlings!" she grinned, trying her best to keep her emotions from overflowing. It had been so long since she had seen her daughter, over a month! And Mary was positively glowing in marital radiance.

"Mama," Mary scolded as one of the footmen opened her door. "It is quite unseemly for the Countess of Grantham to stand and wave her arms about as you were doing when we pulled up."

Cora ignored her daughter's humorous censure and wasted no time engulfing her eldest child in her arms. Thankfully, despite her scolding, Mary was glad to see her mother again as well, and returned the embrace. After all, she was half-American; she could break British aristocratic protocol and show physical affection, too.

"Oh let the girl breathe," muttered a haughty voice from just beyond Cora's shoulder.

Cora rolled her eyes and Mary smiled as she turned and greeted her grandmother. "It's good to have you back, my dear," Violet murmured, dispensing of her snobbish demeanor and smiling at her granddaughter.

"Matthew," Cora said with a happy smile, holding her arms out and greeting her son-in-law with a kiss on the cheek.

"Cousin Cora," he greeted warmly, before turning his eyes and smiling at Violet.

"We missed you, my boy," Violet announced, earning a somewhat surprised look from her daughter-in-law. "What? We would be lying to say that we didn't."

Matthew chuckled and turned his smile to Robert, who had just finished greeting Mary with an affectionate kiss on her cheek. The two men heartily shook hands, and immediately Robert wanted to know more about Matthew's new car and when he had purchased it and where.

"Oh gracious, they'll be going on about that for hours," Cora sighed, linking her arm through Mary's and leading her back into the house.

"Boys and their toys," Mary dramatically sighed, giving her mother a knowing look, causing them both to laugh. She then greeted Carson, whose normal icy demeanor quickly melted, as it always did, for the eldest Crawley daughter.

"No doubt you and Matthew will wish to change after your journey; and then we can have tea in the library and you can tell me all about Paris!" Cora gushed.

"I would have thought my letters sufficed in telling you that," Mary murmured, turning and greeting Anna with a warm smile as she handed the housemaid her hat, gloves, and coat. "You mean you are not as eager to hear about the 'wonders' of Manchester?" she teased.

"Yes, well, your youngest sister has several opinions on _that_ portion of your honeymoon," Violet muttered under her breath.

Mary frowned as she realized that one face she had expected to see alongside her parents was not there. "Where is Sybil?"

Cora sighed. "She took a walk just after luncheon; I thought she was staying to the gardens, but…perhaps she decided to walk to Loxley? Although I would think she would say something if she were, I mean she knew you were coming back this afternoon."

"I think she's in her room, milady," Anna volunteered with a curtsey.

"Her room?" Cora frowned. "Then...why didn't she—?"

"It's alright," Mary assured, squeezing her mother's hand. "I'll go up and see her myself."

She turned then and began climbing the familiar steps that she had walked up and down countless times throughout her life, only to realize that the last time she had stood upon these very steps was when she was descending them in her wedding dress. She smiled at the memory, and proceeded to walk down the twisting corridors that led to the familiar room of her youngest sister.

Mary often wondered how Sybil was faring, now the only Crawley daughter left at the house. The two of them had been exchanging letters of their own, while she and Matthew were on their honeymoon. And judging from those letters, it sounded as if their parents were locked in a losing battle in trying to push Sybil into something she was not prepared to partake in. She had no doubt that Sybil would marry one day (she always thought Sybil the prettiest), but she did tend to agree with her sister's opinion that she saw no sense in rushing out and finding her a match. Let these things take their course; hadn't her family learned that when it came to Sybil, the more you pushed, the more she would resist? And they thought they had a battle when trying to convince _her_ to marry Matthew!

She couldn't help but smile at the old memory of how once upon a time Matthew Crawley was the last man in the world she ever thought she would marry. Well, for once she was glad to have been proven wrong.

"Sybil?" she called out as she approached the door. She heard movement inside and smiled, glad to know that Anna had been right about her youngest sister's whereabouts. "Sybil?" she said again, now knocking on the door lightly.

She frowned at the strange noises that followed next. Like…squeals and gasps? She then heard a thump, like someone had tripped over something! Good heavens, what on earth…?

"Sybil?" she opened the door, not bothering to wait for an invitation and gaped at the mess that was strewn across her baby sister's bed. "Good heavens, what is going on?"

Mary lifted her eyes then to her youngest sister and stared in confusion as Sybil's bright blue eyes stared back at her, large and wide…and her face looked pale.

"Sybil?" Mary murmured again, confused by the mess of gowns that were lying on the bed and not hanging in the wardrobe, and by her sister's rather…shocked and fearful expression. "Heavens, darling, what is the matter? You look as if you've seen a ghost!"

Sybil stared back at her, her face still pale and her eyes still wide, and Mary swore she thought for a moment her sister was going to faint! But then Sybil took a step towards her, her mouth hanging open as if she were going to speak, before finally uttering the single word, in such a soft voice that Mary barely heard her, "Mary…?"

Mary frowned. What was the matter? Something wasn't right, why was Sybil staring at her as if…as if she were a complete stranger?

"Sybil, why…?" she gestured towards the bed where the gowns lay, and then stared back at her sister who she finally realized was standing before her in her chemise, corset, and slip. "If you were planning on changing into something a little grander for my homecoming, you needn't have bothered," she teased, hoping that would put her sister at rest. Good heavens, she was acting peculiar.

"I…I um…" Sybil stammered as she looked at the bed and then back at Mary, looking very unsure of herself and what to say next. _That would be a first; Sybil Crawley tongue-tied? _

Mary took a step towards her sister, her frown deepening as she noticed how Sybil's eyes quickly fell to the ground, as if trying to avoid her intense stare. Something wasn't right; she couldn't put her finger on it, but something was…different, about her sister. _I know I've been gone for over a month, but people do not change _that_ deeply!_

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but before she could, a pair of footsteps was heard just outside, moving quickly towards Sybil's room, followed by labored breathing.

"I've got it! I've got my sewing basket, we can fix—OH!" Gwen gasped, staring at Mary in shock as she burst through the door. Mary arched a delicate brow at the redhead, who quickly fell into a little curtsey, bobbing her head and murmuring, "welcome home, milady, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to burst in like that, had I known—"

"It's alright," Mary assured, turning her eyes once again to Sybil and looking at her strangely. Her sister remained silent, her eyes cast down at the ground, her arms folded in front of her, as if covering herself. "Well…" Mary turned back to Gwen. "Clearly you are in the midst of some sort of…" her eyes fell upon the bed once more. "…project."

Gwen glanced at Sybil and then put on a smile and nodded her head. "Yes, milady, we um…Lady Sybil needed me to let in some of her dresses, and…and so I went to go and get my sewing box, and…well…"

"I didn't know what dress to wear for tonight," Sybil finally piped up, her voice squeaking just slightly. "I mean…I…I wanted to look my best, for you and…and…" she seemed confused, and closed her eyes, as if concentrating, before opening them and looking back at Mary. "Matthew!" she gasped, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. "You and Matthew!"

Mary was even more confused than before. "You…wanted to look your best for our return?" she asked, trying to make sense of her sister's words.

Sybil nodded and smiled, glancing over and Gwen before looking back at Mary. "Yes, that's right. And…well, as Gwen said, I discovered that I needed a little help, that um…well, that some of the dresses are a little loose, so she's going to help me let them in—"

"Help _you_ let them in?"

Sybil suddenly paled once more, but before Mary could question her further, she swallowed and nodded her head. "Yes, I…well, I learned a little bit about sewing before I went to York, and…and…well, I can sew stitches, of course, because…because I'm a nurse," she swallowed and glanced over at Gwen, before looking back at Mary again. "Anyway, Gwen and I are going to work on my dresses and…and then I shall be ready for dinner and surprise all of you in something lovely!"

Sybil had rushed through her last sentence so quickly that Mary felt as if her head were spinning. What had come over her sister? Why was she acting so strangely? "Sybil, _is_ everything alright?" Mary asked, walking over to her sister and taking her hands into hers.

Sybil stared back at Mary, her eyes wide once again. However, Mary noticed the way Sybil's grasp, while stiff at first, suddenly tightened, before squeezing her hands in such a way as if…well, as if they hadn't seen each other in a very, very long time.

"It is…" she murmured, smiling up at Mary. "It is now."

Mary was still unsure what to make of her sister's behavior, but decided, at least for the time being, to simply smile, return the affectionate squeeze, before leaning in and giving her sister a kiss on the cheek. "Well, I'm going to change and then I'll be back downstairs for tea; I hope you will join us?"

Sybil smiled at her, but she noticed how her sister seemed to stiffen upon her use of the word "us". She was tempted to question her again if everything was alright, but decided against it. Perhaps their parents were the more appropriate people to speak to? After all, she had been away from over a month; was it possible that so much had changed in that time?

Mary offered a parting smile, before telling her once again how glad she was to see her, and then quietly left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Gwen stood on the other side, her ear practically pressed against the door, listening to Lady Mary's retreating footsteps, and only when she was satisfied that a decent distance had been reached, did she turn to face "Sybil", who had more or less collapsed upon the bed, her hands covering her face as she groaned.

"That was a close one," Gwen whispered.

Sarah groaned. "I can't do this; my mind went blank when I saw her, even though I remembered Sybil showing me her picture! If I'm this way around Mary, how will I be around my parents?"

Gwen tried to give Sarah a reassuring smile before moving over to the bed to help her back up onto her feet. "You were just taken by surprise, milady; that's all. Come on, let's fix these gowns for you, and we'll go over everything Lady Sybil taught you."

Sarah had nothing really to add, so she simply nodded her head and in agreement.

Gwen smiled and turned to gaze at the pile of gowns that Sarah had extracted from Sybil's wardrobe while she had gone in search of her sewing box. "So…did you see anything specifically you wished to wear this evening?"

Sarah couldn't help but giggle as she looked at all the dresses. "There are so many! I…I honestly don't know where to start!" she ran her hands along the fabric, amazed by the softness and beauty of it all. She remembered seeing young ladies come to the houses she had served in the past, dressed in their finery. She remembered watching them from the servant's stairwell, wondering what it would be like to wear such a gown. Now, laying before her was that very opportunity! And she honestly was at a loss for words on where to begin.

"Well," Gwen smiled, picking up one frock. "I know this one was always a favorite of Lady Sybil's…" she held up the black and gold gown before Sarah, turning her to look into a full length mirror.

Indeed, it was beautiful, but Sarah found herself frowning. "I…I think I would prefer to wear something a little more…colorful?" she murmured, looking at Gwen to see if that was alright.

Gwen simply smiled. "Well, I always told Lady Sybil that this was one of my favorites," she grinned, holding up a lacy blue gown that seemed to shimmer in the late afternoon light, reminding Sarah of starlight.

"Oh that is gorgeous…" Sarah gasped, her fingers trembling as she carefully reached forward to touch the fabric. However, something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned to see another frock, also blue in color, but a deeper shade, like summer sky over the ocean. And the fabric was different two…softer, shearer…like silk!

"Oh Gwen," she whispered in reverence as she picked up the frock. "This is even…" her words faded and a frown suddenly settled over her face as she held gown up to the mirror…only to realize that it wasn't a "gown" at all. "Oh my!" she gasped, her eyes widening with realization, before turning to look at Gwen in astonishment. "Are…are those…?"

Gwen couldn't help but laugh. "Trousers? In a manner of speaking, yes."

Sarah's mouth fell open. Trousers? A frock that was in fact…_trousers?_

"Would you like to try it on?" Gwen giggled.

Sarah turned and stared at the redhead, surprise still written all over her face…but slowly, a large smile began to spread. "Can I?"

* * *

They say time goes by so quickly when you're having fun.

Sarah had never understood that expression, mainly because there had been few times in her life when she was having "fun".

This, however, was one of those times.

She and Gwen were laughing and giggling as she tried on frock after frock, making notes as to where the gowns needed work to fit her somewhat smaller figure, but for the most part, not a great deal needed to be changed, thankfully, and because Sarah had experience in sewing and mending during the years, she knew all about how to make proper stitches that could easily be removed to let the clothes return to their previous shape. Yet she could not resist trying on several…but so far, her favorite was the certainly the rather daring "trouser frock"! So much so, that Sarah wanted to try it on a second time, complete with shoes, gloves, and the matching headband that Gwen had told her went with it.

"I feel like a princess from some far, enchanted, desert land!" Sarah giggled, blushing as she admired her reflection. Oh goodness, this wasn't very good, was it? She would truly become a vain creature by the end of these two weeks!

Gwen laughed. "Lady Sybil always said it was like something out of Arabian Nights; I've never read the book, but there was this one story that Lady Sybil told me about, where a common boy tricks everyone into believing he's a prince, thanks to a magical genie—"

"SYBIL?!"

Sarah and Gwen froze at the rather frantic and thunderous knock that was coming from outside.

It wasn't Lady Mary. This was a voice that Sarah had never heard before…

…But there was a part of her that knew it.

Suddenly, the doors opened and Sarah and Gwen turned to see Lady Grantham, standing and panting slightly, as if she had just rushed from somewhere, her eyes flying back and forth between the two of them, and it was plain to see judging from the look on her face that she was most agitated.

"Sybil!" she hissed, glaring at her daughter. "What have you been doing? Why haven't you come downstairs yet? What—" she paused as she finally realized her daughter's appearance. "Good heavens, what are you WEARING!?"

If Cora Crawley weren't so frantic, she may have paused to realize the same thing that Mary had noticed upon first seeing Sarah. However, she had come upstairs after making several polite excuses, with the direct intention of dragging her youngest down at once, and cease this endless and tedious wait they were all enduring.

Sarah stared at the Countess of Grantham with wide, awestruck eyes. _She's even more beautiful than Sybil's photograph…_

Her mother. This…this was _her mother!_ She was at a complete and utter loss; she didn't know what to say! Ever since seeing the photograph of her parents, she had been imagining this moment, imagining all the different things she would say, how she would behave, how she would look, how she would even think! But all of those imaginings flew away when Cora groaned, muttering something about "this will have to do", before coming forward and tugging on her daughter's wrist, dragging her out of the room behind her.

There was a brief moment though, when Cora touched her daughter's arm that she felt something was…different. However, she shook her head, not wanting to keep their dinner guests waiting another second longer, and tugged on Sarah's wrist, muttering something about "how rude this must all seem; your father is very embarrassed; how could you be so irresponsible?" and so on and so forth.

Perhaps under different circumstances, Sarah would also be reacting differently at hearing these words. Yet right now, all she could understand was that the woman who had given birth to her was touching her arm and taking her somewhere, to another place in this large and beautiful vast house that was like nothing she could have imagined in her wildest dreams.

Cora released her daughter's arm once they were outside a specific room. "I will go in first and prepare your father," she told the girl. She sighed and looked at "Sybil" one more time, shaking her head as she took in her daughter's choice of clothing, however before she pushed through the doors, she did pause to look "Sybil" in the face…and was momentarily struck by something.

Something seemed…_different_, about her daughter. But she wasn't quite sure what, exactly.

However, there was no time for speculation, she simply muttered something about giving her so many seconds before entering, and then without another word or look, she slipped inside, leaving Sarah to stand by herself just outside the room.

_Behind this door…is my family. My father, my eldest sister and her husband; perhaps my other sister and hers, too! I wonder, is that little girl with her again? Oh gracious, that would make her my niece! Which means I'm her aunt—_I'man aunt!

The thought brought a smile to her face as she remembered the little girl who had seen her at the flower show, who had been the one that led both her and Sybil to one another. Oh goodness, what was her name again?

No, no, it was unlikely that the child would be attending; she was far too young. But who else would be there? Her grandmother, no doubt, the woman whose photograph had caused Sarah to break out into a nervous sweat. Perhaps that cousin Sybil had mentioned? The mother of her—no, of _their_ brother-in-law? Yes, no doubt she would be in attendance if her son was finally back after being away for over a month. Good heavens, to go from having practically no family to having so many! As intimidating and daunting as it all seemed, Sarah was surprised to find herself…smiling. Smiling and even feeling…excited about meeting all of them!

_I must have courage; I mustn't be as I was when Mary found me. After all, I'm supposed to be "Sybil"; how would Sybil behave? She wouldn't be frightened of her own family, certainly. No, Sybil is brave, Sybil is confident; I can be those things too! And Sybil was the one who was so bold as to purchase this frock in the first place! TROUSERS!_ Sarah couldn't help but giggle then, imagining her twin sister floating into the drawing room in 1913, wearing this very outfit and shocking everyone in attendance, but paying no heed to it, simply smiling and glowing with pride!

_I want to be like that; I _can_ be like that!_

And so she did not hesitate. She pushed open the drawing room doors, put on her best "Sybil smile", and strode forward just as she had imagined her sister doing once upon a time, and grinned at the stunned faces that gazed back at her, before confidently greeting, "Good evening, everyone!"

Wide eyes full of surprise were indeed what greeted her. She looked around the room and saw all the faces Sybil had shown her, and this time she was prepared, this time she had a name to match with every face.

Her grandmother was sitting in the center of the room, and she perhaps looked the most appalled by her choice of dinner attire. Near her sat another woman, not as old, but certainly older than her mother. Cousin Isobel, Matthew's mother, surely. Just next to her sat Mary, who also looked rather astonished by her appearance, but there was also a look upon her face that seemed to say, _"You've done it again! Why am I not surprised"?_ Directly opposite of Mary was Edith, whom Sarah recognized from the flower show, and standing just behind her were two men, both blonde, one older than the other, but whom Sarah was able to establish to be her brothers-in-law, Sir Anthony Strallan and Matthew Crawley.

Her eyes traveled the room to the opposite corner, where her mother had gone. She was standing next to the Earl of Grantham…her father. _Her father!_ Like her grandmother, he also looked rather appalled, but Sarah couldn't stop smiling and beaming at the man, and both her parents who were standing next to one another.

However, her smile suddenly vanished as she realized there was another in the room, a face to whom Sybil had not described.

A footman? No, no, he was dressed different from the servants; for one, he wore a dinner jacket with a black tie as opposed to the livery she had seen the footmen wear, both here and at the other houses she had served. Was he another family member? But…but Sybil would have said something? And she had seen photographs of Sir Anthony and Matthew, so she knew he was not either of her brothers-in-law. Who was he?

Her father seemed ready to answer, after his wife nudged him to say something.

"Sybil…" Lord Grantham coughed, glancing between his youngest daughter and the very gentleman to whom Sarah was staring at. "This is Mr. Bellasis—"

"Tom Bellasis," the man greeted, quickly stepping forward and smiling, holding his hand out in greeting.

_He's a stranger; I'm being introduced_! She was both relieved as well as taken aback, and she found herself swallowing nervously as the met the man's eyes—deep and blue—before lifting a somewhat trembling hand to his.

"Lady Sybil," he smiled, his fingers gently holding hers as he briefly bowed his head. "It's a pleasure."

Was it? Sarah felt her cheeks inflame as she gazed back at the handsome gentleman, whose accent sounded a little strange to her ears, but a wonderful sort of strange; she found that she liked it very much.

"Well!" the Dowager Countess announced, rising from where she sat. "Now that we have all gathered, at last," she muttered. "Shall we?" She smiled at everyone in the room, before locking eyes with Sarah and the gentleman who was standing just opposite of her. "Mr. Bellasis, would you be so kind as to escort Lady Sybil in?"

Sarah's cheeks reddened even more, and she quickly turned to look up at the gentleman, who was smiling in return at her grandmother, murmuring, "It would be an honor," however there was something she could see hidden in his expression, something beneath the handsome smile and polite manner. Nothing bad or sinister, but perhaps…suspicion?

"Lady Sybil?" he murmured, offering her his arm.

Sarah swallowed again, looking down at Mr. Bellasis' offered arm, before carefully wrapping her hand around it as she had often seen ladies do when being escorted.

She lifted her eyes once more to his, and silently cursed her blushing cheeks; no doubt she resembled a tomato at this point.

But Mr. Bellasis only smiled, and that hidden look she thought she had seen disappeared. And oh, it was such a lovely smile…

As he led her into the dining room behind the rest of the company, Sarah saw for the first time the room she had been dreading the most since she had agreed to go through with her twin sister's mad scheme: the Downton dining room.

Now, as her eyes took in the fine china and beautiful place settings, each with half a dozen pieces of cutlery and several different glasses, she knew that her _true test_ was about to begin…

* * *

_Special shout out to **Angiemagz** who made me this beautiful gif for this moment when Sarah and Tom Bellasis meet. You can see that here on my tumblr page: : yankeecountess . tumblr post / 55513980035 / update - chapter -9 - i - must - have - courage - i # notes_


	10. Chapter 10

_HELLO! I'm back! :oD sorry for the delay! Anyway, here's a long chapter to make up for it! A little bit of flashback, a little more insight into Mr. Tom Bellasis, and Sybil's first moments at the Grantham Arms. And oooohhh she has a rather memorable encounter ;o) but you'll just have to read to see what I mean! HOPE YOU ENJOY!_

_Dedicating this chapter to my dear friend and awesome S/T writer, **magfreak**, who was one of the key people in getting me to write this story in the first place ;o)_

* * *

_Chapter Ten_

_Earlier that day…_

Lady Nora watched from the front steps of Grassley as her son carried his own suitcase out to the car, securing it firmly, before turning back to smile at her. "Come now, I'll only be gone for a fortnight," he teased, no doubt seeing her sad expression. Yes, yes, she knew she was being foolish, and it wasn't as if this were the first time her son had gone away on long journeys without her (if a half-day's journey could be considered long), but still, there was a feeling she could not shake, a feeling as if…a great change was about to happen.

Ever since she had shared her theory with her husband about the "real" reason to why Tom was being called to Downton Abbey, these feelings of "change" grew stronger and stronger.

Would her son find love at the home of the Earl of Grantham? She never pushed Tom into a match, even if she thought a certain girl would be perfect for him. She had been lucky in finding love with Sir Joseph and she wanted her own son to have a similar marriage. But he was twenty-eight years old, and he always detested the London season; if he was going to meet a girl, it would have to be through such means as this, although she did not care for the "sneakiness" of the arrangement.

"What will you tell Lord Grantham when you arrive with no valet?" Lady Nora sighed, shaking her head at her son's foolish insistence. Ever since he had gone away to university, he realized that he could do just fine on his own, without a valet to attend to him. It was just as well at the time, since Grassley was beginning to experience its financial problems and they couldn't afford another servant. However, now that things were on the mend, financially speaking, Tom still insisted he could manage without a valet, and both she and Sir Joseph gave up the fight.

Tom shrugged his shoulders, clearly not bothered by the idea. "I've been dressing myself for dinner these past ten years, Mother; I think I can manage another fortnight without the aid."

She sighed. "I just don't want Lord Grantham thinking we're…well, that we're _common_—"

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, frowning as he looked at her. "Being 'common'? Thousands—nay, _millions_, I am sure, get by just fine with less than a handful of servants, _if_ any at all. Is that something to be ashamed of?"

Lady Nora sighed, doing her best to suppress an eye roll. "Your grandparents would be rolling in their graves, hearing you talk so."

He grinned proudly at this. "Good," he stated. "And as for Lord Grantham's opinion, I honestly couldn't care less what he thought of me, valet or no. Based on the little correspondence we've had since I accepted his invitation, I daresay the man can't afford 'snubbing' me, if he wants my help in advising him on ways to turn things around for Downton."

"Just remember that he is an Earl, Tom; earls are different from baronets, they have certain expectations—"

"I will treat Lord Grantham with the utmost respect, Mother, I can assure you of that. However, at the end of the day, he is a man like myself, like Father, and like Kinsley," he said, gesturing to the Grassley butler, standing not so far away. "Are not all men created equal in the eyes of God?"

"Oh good heavens, there you go quoting Thomas Jefferson again," she sighed with a shake of her head. "Just keep in mind, my dear, not all men are prepared to listen to such opinions, especially men of Lord Grantham's ilk."

He chuckled at this, but said nothing further. While Lady Nora thought herself a great deal more "progressive" than any member of the Dunn-Sainny family, even she found her son's ideologies to be a bit too "radical" for her tastes.

"You will write to us?" she asked, forcing a smile despite the emotions that were gripping her heart. "I know, I know, it's only a fortnight, but humor your bothersome mother—"

"I promise," he chuckled, leaning in and kissing her cheek. "I will even sit down tonight with pen and paper, and have a message sent first thing in the morning."

She smiled and lifted her hands to cup her son's face. Her darling boy…her sweet, darling boy. Sometimes…if she gazed long enough, she swore she could see a resemblance between her son and her husband. It was enough to sometimes fool her into thinking that yes, he was more than just the son of her heart, but also the son of her blood.

"Are you off?" Sir Joseph asked from over her shoulder. He came down the steps to grasp Tom's arm as a sign of affection, and Lady Nora found herself standing off to the side, watching as her husband and son smiled and laughed, giving each other a few parting words, and she clasped her hands in front of her, trying her hardest not to cry.

_He is not of our flesh, but he _is_ our son,_ she said to herself. She was so proud of him; so proud of everything he had accomplished and done. And yet…and yet she couldn't help it. Her mind wandered, as it sometimes did whenever she gazed at her beloved Tom, to that other baby…

* * *

_Drumgoole Castle, Ireland, 1890_

Nora glanced between the sliding doors that separated the library from the drawing room, eyeing the little disheveled woman who sat there, soaked from the storm that raged outside, staring hopelessly at a basket that lay next to her on the chaise where she sat.

"We can't do this, Nora…" murmured her husband's voice from behind her. "It isn't right, and you know that!"

She did. She did know that. She was shocked when the footman came to the library, saying there was a woman with a covered basket in the Servant's Hall, and she refused to leave until she saw Lady Nora. The only reason the butler hadn't thrown her out was because she had once worked at Drumgoole many years ago.

The second Nora clamped eyes on Margaret Branson, she remembered her. She remembered the housemaid very well. She remembered coming to the poor girl's defense, when one of Nora's brothers tried to play a nasty trick on the unsuspecting housemaid; her brothers were notorious for that, and her parents always turned a blind eye. The thing was, Nora had tried to help Margaret then, and she wanted to help her now. She led the woman away from the Servant's Hall and the looks of confusion on the staff gathered around, and listened as carefully as she could while Margaret sobbed into a soiled, worn handkerchief, explaining the recent, tragic news about her husband's death. Nora listened, her heart breaking as Margaret went on, talking about the struggles they were having with the farm, how her older children would have to leave school to work, but nothing, NOTHING, could have prepared Nora for what Margaret revealed to her next.

The basket which she carried had a blanket draped across the top. Margaret pulled the blanket back and Nora stared in wide-eyed shock at the two sleeping baby boys, lying side by side and looking peaceful and angelic, their little chests rising and falling in soft, oblivious slumber.

And that was when Margaret Branson made her heartbreaking, desperate plea.

"It's not right…" Joseph repeated, pacing back and forth in the study. "You do know that, don't you?"

She sighed and turned away from the sliding doors to face her husband once again. "I do," she answered. "It's not right to take a woman's children away from her. But…but at the same time, it's not right to let such innocent lambs starve, either!"

"Nora…" Joseph groaned.

"It's also not right that I haven't been able to fulfill my one duty to you," she moaned, tears stinging the back of her eyes, shame filling her heart.

"Your one duty? What on earth…oh, oh Nora, no, no—"

"Four years, Joseph! We've been married for four years, and I _still_ haven't been able to give you a child, let alone a son and heir! If that's not a failure of duty, then I don't know what is—"

"Stop such talk!" he hissed, crossing the room to where she stood, taking her hands in both of his and squeezing them tenderly, before lifting them to his lips and cradling them against his chest. "I love you…and I would marry you again, over and over, even if I _knew_ we would never have children…"

Nora thought she would burst with emotion a sweet declaration. She remembered how her family were against the match in the beginning, thinking she too good for a "mere baronet", however she defied all of them, and agreed to marry Sir Joseph Bellasis, even if it meant permanent exile from Drumgoole and the Dunn-Sainny family. However, due perhaps to some positive correspondence from one of her mother's friends about the Bellasis family, they now "tolerated" Joseph, although she knew deep down, they were all judging her and the fact that she had as of yet to give him a son and heir. Yet how many husbands would be so understanding, so good? Very few, she wagered.

She lifted a hand to caress Joseph's cheek, moved by his words and wanting him to know what they meant to her. But at the same time she was saddened to admit that despite all his kind words of faith and love, she would always feel that something was missing from her marriage if they were to remain childless.

"Beggin' your pardon…"

Both Joseph and Nora turned to face the timid voice that had come from behind them. Margaret Branson stood between the two sliding doors, having pushed them a little wider so that she could enter the study.

"I…I'm sorry," she apologized, looking down at her feet. "I…I did not mean to interrupt—"

"No, no, that is quite alright, Margaret," Nora reassured, quickly lifting a hand to wipe away any stray tears from her cheeks, before putting on a smile at the former housemaid. "It is I who should be apologizing to you, for keeping you waiting."

Margaret swallowed and lifted her eyes then. "I'd gladly wait all night, if I knew my sons would be in your care and never want for anything again."

Nora's breath caught in her throat, and she reached behind her, seeking her husband's hand to grasp. Oh Lord, give her strength; she was being faced with the greatest temptation.

"Margaret…" she softly began, taking a deep breath. "I…that is, we," she squeezed Joseph's hand then. "We just…we don't believe it's…" she was stumbling over herself.

"It doesn't feel right," Joseph intervened in a gentle voice. "Taking a child—or in this case, two children, away from their mother."

The skin around Margaret's eyes was red and puffy from all the tears she had already shed. One wouldn't think it possible that she had anymore to spare, but they once again began to brim at Sir Joseph's statement.

"Please sir…forgive me, I know I am speaking out of turn, but…but you are doing neither of us, I or my sons, any favors by letting them stay here."

Joseph sighed. "Mrs. Branson, I…I'm truly sorry for your loss, and…" he reached into his waistcoat pocket, and Nora's eyes widened as she recognized the old leather chequebook.

Margaret Branson must have recognized it too, because she began to furiously shake her head. "No, no, this isn't about money! I'm _not_ asking you for money!" she reached forward then and put her hands on his to stop him from opening the chequebook. Such a gesture would hardly be tolerated by most, but Margaret Branson was a desperate woman_. "I want my sons to have a better life!_ And despite your words about 'not wanting to part them from their mother', by letting them stay with me, you are sentencing them to death!"

Nora gasped and her eyes flew to her husband's. He was clearly troubled by what Margaret had said to him, but at the same time, he was still trying to hold firm to his beliefs. "Mrs. Branson, I know things seem bleak now—"

A scoffing laugh, border lining on hysteria, escaped the woman's lips. "Sir…have you ever gone an entire week without eating meat? Have you ever had a supper that consisted _only_ of water and moldy potatoes? Have you ever had to ignore your children's complaints about their bellies hurting for lack of food, because there's absolutely nothing you can do? Or tell your eldest that they will have to leave school, because now that their Da is dead, they will need to help this family survive with the meager wages they make? Or have your entire family huddle together in bed for warmth, because the fire keeps dying due to the leaky chimney? Or face the fear that perhaps tonight will be your last night under a roof, because tomorrow your 'Lord and Master' may evict you from his land? Have you? _HAVE YOU?!"_ her hands were gripping the lapels of his jacket, her eyes wild with desperation and grief. "Forgive me, Sir Joseph, but DO NOT tell me that things 'seem bleak now', because things _have been_ bleak for many years, even before my dear Aedan, God rest his soul," she paused to cross herself, "departed this world. THAT is the world which my sons have been born into, and THAT is the world in which they will be condemned…_IF_ they survive!"

Nora's vision was blurred by tears at hearing poor Margaret's sad tale. She had never realized it was as bad as that. How could her family have allowed such poor conditions with their tenants to continue like this? If anything it made her worry about the tenants back at Grassley; the estate and land were much smaller compared to Drumgoole, but there were still people who depended upon them.

She looked to her husband, and could see that the firmness he had been holding to earlier was beginning to waver somewhat.

"Perhaps…" Nora began, her eyes holding Joseph's while she carefully placed her hands on Margaret's shoulders to ease her away from him. "Perhaps we can…find a place for her near Grassley?"

Joseph's eyes widened in shock at her suggestion, however he didn't have to say anything against it because Margaret was shaking her head in sadness. "Oh milady…if…if it were only me and my boys, I might consider it…but…but I can't take all of my children away from here, the land where their father is buried," her words grew soft and she took several deep breaths to keep herself from sobbing anew. "And…and as kind an offer as it is, I doubt your fine house and grounds have a need for all of us."

It was true, Nora hadn't thought that far. They would have to create positions for Margaret and the older children, and Grassley wasn't so very big, therefore the need and demand for staff wasn't as great as it were here, at Drumgoole. And then there was the fact that she had learned that Margaret's two eldest would be serving there, and she doubted her parents would appreciate her stealing their newest, youngest servants, even if they didn't know their names or how bad their situation was at home.

"Please…" Margaret begged, turning her eyes to Nora, looking so frantic and helpless. "Please, milady…you're my boys' only hope! I have nowhere else to turn! And I know you'll take good care of them…I know that with you, they will want for nothing, but more than that; I know that with you, they will know love because you are good and kind; you always were to me…" she stopped then, her hands covering her mouth to hold back the sobs that threatened to escape. Just then one of the babies began to fuss, and Margaret quickly collected herself, before turning and rushing to the other room to see to her sons.

Nora turned and looked up at Joseph, Margaret's desperation and need running through her own heart. "Oh Joseph…surely there's something we can do?"

Her poor husband looked so conflicted. She knew he wasn't saying "no" initially to be cruel; nothing like that at all. She knew that he was struggling with the morality of the situation: separating a newborn (two newborns in this case) from their mother, their family, their homeland. No doubt these points were what fueled his next question.

"Mrs. Branson…I'm not saying that we will, but…" he took a deep breath. "_If_ we did as you ask, what would you tell your other children?"

Nora looked at the former housemaid, curious to the woman's answer. And judging from the way Margaret swallowed and looked down at her feet, it was clear she hadn't thought a great deal about that particular detail.

"I…I would tell them that they died."

Nora gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. DIED!? Did it have to be as drastic as that?

"They wouldn't understand," Margaret murmured, as if hearing Nora's silent question and answering it. "They…they would hate me, surely, if they knew I had done this. They would think me a coward, a traitor; they would think I didn't love my boys, or that I didn't love them because I couldn't do the same for them—no, no, better that they believe them dead," she whispered with a heavy heart.

Those poor children. And Margaret! To have to go back and tell such a gruesome lie…

"There would be some truth to it," she whispered, once again answering Nora's unspoken thoughts. "They…they would be dead, as far as our world was concerned. They would no longer be my sons; my blood may run through their veins but they would not have my name. No, no, _you_ would be their mother, milady," she whispered, looking up and holding Nora's gaze. "Both of you would be their parents; and…and I don't want them to know anything about me," she pleaded. "Nothing about me, their siblings, or the world in which they were born into."

Both Nora and Joseph stared back at Margaret in absolute shock. She was asking them to not only give her sons a new life, but to never tell the truth about their old one.

"But…but Margaret…" Nora began. "Wouldn't you want to—"

"No, milady!" she gasped, picking up one of the babies who was still fussing and rocking him in her arms. "No…no, I don't want to know anything. Please…don't write to me, don't even come looking for me. When you come back to visit Ireland, don't seek me out, I don't want to know. It…it will be easier this way," she whispered, attempting to lift her chin and appear determined, even though Nora could plainly see the battle the woman was fighting over the entire matter. "Promise me that, please?"

They hadn't even agreed to do what she wanted, and yet Nora found herself silently nodding her head. _This isn't right; even if we take the children, it isn't right to keep such a truth from them, forever. _ She wanted to argue the matter further, or at least question it, but before she even had the chance to open her mouth, Margaret was practically thrusting the fussy boy she was holding into Nora's arms. The force of the motion practically caused her to stumble backward, and Joseph was just behind her, catching her in time. However, they were both transfixed with the tiny life that was now released into Nora's arms…while Margaret slowly backed away, willing her hands to lower to her sides.

Nora had heard stories about how easy it was for a mother to fall in love with her child; that upon the first seconds of holding their son or daughter, a bond stronger than any metal, would instantly be created.

Those stories were right. She stared down at the little boy that Margaret Branson had thrust into her arms…and right away, she felt her heart swell at the tiny boy, whose fussy immediately began to soften as he looked up at her, his eyes as blue as the ocean on a summer's day.

_My son…_

"What's his name?" she found herself whispering, lifting her eyes to meet Margaret's, tears already filling them.

"Whatever you wish it to be," Margaret answered, struggling to not take the child back into her own arms.

Nora bit her lip and turned to look up at her husband, wondering what he was thinking. She gasped as she saw tears welling in his own eyes, his gaze fixed on the baby in her arms…and with trembling fingers, she watched as he lifted his hand to touch the downy blonde hair on the child's head.

"See?" Margaret whispered. "See how easy it is to love them? See how well you look together?" she began to back away towards the basket where the child's twin brother still lay. She lifted the boy and held him close, forcing herself to take the steps needed to reach them and hand them that babe as well. "I knew…I knew this was the right thing to do…that…that you were perfect for them…" she whispered between crying hiccups.

Nora tried to swallow the lump lodged in her throat as she gazed back and forth between the two babies. They were twins, physically identical in every way. Brothers, whose bond some could argue was stronger than that between non-twin siblings. They belonged together…

And yet…

"Keep him," she found herself whispering.

"What?" Joseph asked, awaking from his stupor.

"What?" Margaret gasped, looking confused and somewhat flustered by Nora's words. Despite her look of confusion, Nora had a feeling that Margaret perfectly knew what she was talking about.

"Keep him," she repeated. "Joseph's right; it's wrong to take away a woman's child—and…and to take away _both of them_ from you—"

"But—"

"Please, Margaret; I…I don't think I could live with myself, knowing that both of your sons were ripped from you. I certainly struggle with the idea of not telling them _anything_, however…" she paused. "However, I think…knowing that you have one boy, one darling boy who will grow up here, in his homeland, knowing your love and the love of his family, being able to proudly wear the Branson name—"

"But milady—"

"Please, Margaret," she pleaded. "Please…let…let us do it like this."

Nora didn't glance back at Joseph; she didn't have to. As soon as the boy was placed in their arms, she knew he felt as she did, and was immediately seeing the boy as his son. _Our son and future heir. _ They would take this boy; take him back to England, back to Grassley and raise him as their own. She and Joseph would work out the details in how to explain to everyone there where the child had come from; perhaps they would stay abroad a little longer, long enough to fool people into thinking she had a child. But that was a job for later; right now, she just needed to convince Margaret to do this, to keep one of her sons.

Because as silly as it perhaps sounded, Nora felt that so long as one boy remained a Branson, then his brother would still have that connection to his past.

Margaret looked down at the child in her arms, and she immediately began to cradle the child closer to her body. Nora knew, deep down, Margaret didn't want to be doing this. That it had taken tremendous courage to come here on this stormy night and make her plea. Only the deepest love could motivate a person so; and at least one of those children deserved to know that love.

"You will…you will take _him_, then?" Margaret whispered, nodding her head at the tiny boy nestled now between Nora and her husband.

Nora nodded. "Aye; and…and you will keep _him?_" nodding her own head at the tiny boy held closely to his mother.

Margaret swallowed and looked down at the boy who was now sleeping in her arms. She lifted her eyes and nodded. "Aye…"

And so that was how Tom Bellasis came to be. The deal was made without anyone else's knowledge. Joseph did give Margaret some money, despite her protests, and in the end, she accepted it. She also gave a tearful goodbye to her son, but did not linger too long for fear that she would not be able to stop. She left hastily soon after, clutching her basket with the remaining child who began to howl. Just so, their son—their new son—began to cry and wail, as if he were calling out for his brother. Oh how it broke her heart to hear…

They named the child Tom, after the disciple who doubted, because Nora had doubted this day would ever come. Every summer they returned to Ireland, Nora wanting the boy to have some connection to his homeland. Because of these frequent visits, and because of the Dunn-Sainny family, Tom developed a strange sounding accent, one that was a mix of Irish and Yorkshire. He seemed to have a love for the Irish countryside, though he did not care for Drumgoole.

Nora kept her promise, though she struggled. She did not attempt to make contact with Margaret Branson; she did not write to her, nor when they visited Ireland, did she try to find out where she was. It was just as Margaret had wanted. Tom Bellasis grew up in complete ignorance, believing she and Joseph were his birth parents, knowing nothing about his background, the names of his true birth family…or the fact that somewhere out there, he had an identical twin brother.

* * *

Was it strange that she didn't feel nervous? Perhaps she did, but she was unaware of it because her nervousness was covered up with a sense of excitement and giddiness for the "adventure" she was about to embark.

_Freedom_.

It was strange, Sybil supposed, to see leaving a world of elegant luxury as an aristocrat's daughter, to going and working as a chambermaid as…"freeing", but it was. She wasn't so ignorant to know that there weren't harsh rules to follow for one who worked as a servant, but at the same time, she found those rules (which were vastly different from the rules in which she had been born into and grown up in) to be much more liberating; the façade to pretend to be something else just didn't seem to exist to Sybil, and so she walked with a quick and merry step to the village, eager to begin this new life at the Grantham Arms.

"Remember, enter through the servant's entrance in the back," she told herself, going over the details Sarah had given her. "The staircase to right leads to the servant's quarters. The staircase to left leads to the guest rooms. The door just beyond the kitchens leads out to the main floor of the inn."

She could do this; she could fall into Sarah's role and convince everyone there that she was Miss Sarah Crawford. And by doing so, she hoped she could manage to convince her family (and show the world) that she could look after herself and manage hard work just fine, that she didn't need to follow in the footsteps of her older sisters, or what was usually expected by the women of her class. She could do this…she _would_ do this.

Sybil's pace slowed as the very inn she had been seeking came into view. There it stood, her home for the next fortnight. _Now_, she began to feel those nerves creeping in.

"Come on," she muttered to herself, urging her feet to continue. With chin held high, she marched onward, doing just as she had earlier reminded herself, going around the back of the inn, looking for that other entrance, the one meant for staff.

Her nose was assaulted by a repulsive smell.

"Oh gracious!" she gasped, her hand flying to cover her nostrils. The smell could have come from several places. There was a large, rubbish heap nearby, where several rats scurried back and forth, retrieving rotted food that had been thrown away. There was also what looked like a small slender shed…which Sybil quickly realized was not a shed, but in fact an outhouse. Oh goodness…was that…was that meant for _them?_

_Is there no indoor water closet?_ She paled at the thought. Even at Downton, the servant's quarters had indoor plumbing! But this wasn't Downton, she had to remind herself. And if she wanted to prove to the world that she was strong and capable and could manage in "harsh environments", then she needed to get over her initial disgust and just accept this as a part of her new life.

With an even more determined step, Sybil moved past the offensive smelling rubbish heap and outhouse, and finally came upon the very door she was seeking. _Right…here we go…_

Her nose was assaulted once again upon walking through the servant's entrance, only this time the smell was the opposite of repulsive.

In truth, all of her senses were assaulted, not just her nose. The scent of something delicious wafted through her nostrils, steam from some nearby pot caused her eyes to water, the air in the kitchen felt stiff and hot, and her ears were flooded with the sound of an older woman barking orders at the scurrying footsteps of a younger one.

"Come on, Daisy, move it!" the older woman bellowed. "I can't season the chicken and stir the stew and make sure the pie isn't burning all at the same time, now can I?"

Sybil took in the chaotic sight, and any worries about feeling homesick disappeared as she was immediately reminded of the kitchen back at Downton (although here there only seemed to be one kitchen maid, whereas Mrs. Bird had quite a few at her disposal). Even though Sarah had given her strict instructions to go upstairs and change into something more suitable, she couldn't help but ignore that advice, and dropped her carpet back by the door, removing the hat and coat Sarah had given her to go and help the little kitchen maid (Daisy), as she rushed from one end of the room to another.

"Here, let me!" Sybil grabbed a nearby apron and threw it over herself, before moving to help the kitchen maid, who was carrying a large bowl filled with chopped vegetables in one hand, and a lugging a pail of water in the other.

"Oh!" Daisy gasped. "You're back! Mrs. Patmore, Sarah's back!"

"Already?" the cook muttered, wiping her hands on her own apron and turning to see. Sybil turned and smiled at the woman, remembering what Sarah had told her. _"She may seem terrifying at first, but her bark is much worse than her bite. She's a kind soul, truly; and despite the way she seems to bully Daisy around, it's clear that she's very fond of the girl." _"We weren't expecting to see you for at least another hour!"

Sybil couldn't help but smile. "I um…they…they didn't need me anymore," she explained, remembering the story she had created, about the sick housemaid and why Sarah was temporarily needed at Downton.

"She's on the mend then?" the cook asked.

Sybil looked confused at first, but then finally realized to what she was referring. "Yes, yes, they…they thanked me for helping, and of course thanked the inn for sparing me," she quickly added. "But my services were no longer necessary, so they sent me home."

Daisy looked a little confused, as did the cook, and Sybil panicked for a moment, wondering if she had said something wrong.

Suddenly, Mrs. Patmore burst out laughing. "Listen to you!" she chuckled. "Spends two days at Downton Abbey and already she's talking like one of their lot," she shook her head as she laughed, before repeating some of what Sybil had said in a slightly mocking "posh" voice. _"My services were no longer necessary…"_

Sybil joined in the cook's and kitchen maid's laughter, although she silently reprimanded herself for her manner of speaking. She would have to watch her words, as well as her tone; she wasn't Lady Sybil Crawley anymore, she was playing the part of her sister, who had worked all her life in service. She needed them to think she was Sarah; she needed them to _believe_ she was her sister.

"Oh don't bother with that," Mrs. Patmore dismissed, seeing how Sybil was trying to take the water pail from Daisy's hands. "Edna should be back here helping, and no doubt is out there flirting with the guests…again," she groaned. "If you see her, send her back here at once!"

Sybil nodded her head, although she was completely clueless about this "Edna" person. She tried to remember if Sarah had mentioned that name in telling her about what to expect at the Grantham Arms, but her mind was drawing a blank.

"And here!" Mrs. Patmore lifted a tea tray and Sybil quickly stepped forward to take it. "Take this to Mr. Yardley…he'll no doubt be in his office."

Sybil nodded her head, although panic once again gripped her mind as she tried to recall the location of the innkeeper's office from what Sarah had told her.

"Well go on!" Mrs. Patmore frowned, looking confused as to why she was still standing there. "Good heavens, you look lost! Don't tell me after running around Downton Abbey these past few days you've forgotten how to get yourself around here?"

"I…" what could she say to that? Her face was growing hot with embarrassment.

"Just beyond the bar, to the right!" Daisy reminded, smiling and looking sympathetic, before quickly moving to finish her tasks at the harsh stare Mrs. Patmore sent her way.

Sybil smiled her thanks at the kitchen maid; perhaps she did have an ally in this place? She took the tray and turned in the direction Daisy had indicated, before Mrs. Patmore could ask another question. She walked down a very short corridor, and followed the sound of men's voices, leading her to the inn's main floor, where guests and patrons of the inn's pub were gathered, talking and having a pint; a momentary reprieve in their work day.

"Oi! There's my pretty girl!" she heard a man's voice grunt nearby. Good heavens…was he…was he talking to her? She lifted her head and felt her cheeks redden as a large, grizzled-looking man with a red beard, tipped his hat and patted his knee. "Come here, my girl! Come and sit on ol' Billy's lap."

"Leave her be, Bill," grunted one of his companions. "Can't you see she's got work to do?"

"Billy" seemed to ignore his friend, and rose from his chair. Good heavens, the man was a giant! "Come and give us a squeeze; I was only teasing, love!"

Sybil didn't know what to say or how to respond. Was he just teasing? Sarah hadn't told her anything about the patrons. Was this man, despite his teasing manner, truly a friend? Or was he an unwanted admirer?

"I've missed you," he pouted. "Haven't seen you these past few days, where've you been?"

Sybil swallowed, unsure if she should answer. Oh Lord, what would Sarah do in this moment? Ignore him and carry on with her work? Talk to the man? She had encountered people like him before when she was a nurse, but the difference was then that she knew how to handle the situation because she was _herself_, not pretending to be someone else.

"Haven't you heard?" came a woman's voice and Sybil turned her head to see a pretty blonde woman in a maid's uniform move up to the table where "ol' Billy" had been sitting. "She's abandoning you lot for Downton Abbey."

Sybil frowned and looked at the woman, who was proceeding to refill his pint glass. She lifted her pretty head and gave Sybil a smirk, but there was no friendliness in that smile.

"What?" Billy gasped, sinking back down into his chair. "Oh no, no, say it ain't so!" he looked genuinely upset by this. "Your pretty face is the only reason I come here, Sarah!"

"Hey!" the blonde pouted, swatting the giant's beefy shoulder. He turned and grinned and grabbed the maid by the waist, pulling her down onto the very lap he had been beckoning Sybil to sit on earlier.

Even though introductions had not been made, Sybil had a feeling this was the infamous Edna to whom Mrs. Patmore had been referring.

"Mrs. Patmore wants you in the kitchen…" she murmured, looking at the blonde and waiting to see if her assumption was right.

The maid rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively. "I'm _busy_, Sarah; can't you see that? Or has your time working as a fine Downton housemaid caused you forget what goes on at your _real job?"_

Sybil frowned, her eyes narrowing. She prided herself on trying to give all people the benefit of the doubt upon first meeting them, but every so often, there were a few she would encounter where the first impression was anything but positive. Edna was quickly becoming one of these people.

"Edna!"

Sybil practically jumped at the stern bark that came from just behind her. The voice clearly had an effect on the maid, because she too leapt to her feet, the mocking mirth wiped completely clean from her face. Sybil turned and looked up at the tall gentleman with silver hair and a beard to match. Based on the descriptions Sarah had provided for her, Sybil had a feeling this was Mr. Yardley, the innkeeper. Who else but an employer could have gained such a reaction from the obstinate blonde chambermaid?

"Sarah, good to see that you're back," he muttered, barely looking at her. "Edna," he spoke sternly. "Do as Sarah told you; go and see to Mrs. Patmore."

Edna's pout returned once more. "But Mr. Yardley—"

He held up a hand and Edna quickly shut her mouth. She mumbled a quick goodbye to the men she had been pouring drinks for, before setting down her pitcher and moving back to the corridor that led to the kitchens. Sybil bit her lip and glanced up at Mr. Yardley, who was muttering something under his breath while rubbing the bridge of his nose…a gesture she had seen her father do, many times in the past.

"I um…" she held up the tea tray Mrs. Patmore had given her. "I have tea for you, sir."

He looked down at her and the tray which she held. "Good, good," he sighed. "Take it into my office; I'm sure his Lordship will appreciate it."

Sybil was about to go and do just that, but practically lost her footing at the man's words. "His…his Lordship?" she practically squeaked. "The…the Earl of Grantham is here?"

He nodded, clearly not seeing the distress in her eyes at this revelation. Oh God, why was he there? Why had her father come? Oh no! Sarah! Had Mr. Yardley said anything to her father about "lending one of their maids" to help at Downton? She could just imagine the confusion on her father's face, and the questions he would ask, which would lead to suspicion for both Sybil and Sarah, and get one or both of them into deep trouble.

However, judging from the way Mr. Yardley was acting, it seemed clear that nothing of that nature had been spoken. He didn't seem to be raging or angry or upset in any way; he didn't even seem to find her behavior odd, as he had picked up Edna's pitcher and was moving around the pub, talking to patrons, refilling any glasses that were offered, more or less being a good, attentive innkeeper, while she stood there like a statue.

Before Mr. Yardley could bark at her the way he had at Edna, she quickly moved towards the man's office, at least wanting to appear like she intended to go in there and offer his Lordship tea, when in truth she was at a complete loss on what to really do. She couldn't go in there! Oh Lord, this was a disaster! WHY was he there? What had brought him to the inn?

"OH!" Sybil gasped as the door to the office suddenly swung open. She pushed herself back against the wall next to the open doorway and turned her head, praying that her father wouldn't turn to look—and he didn't. He moved away from where she was standing, reentering the pub and adjusting his hat and smoothing his jacket.

"Leaving so soon, your Lordship?" Mr. Yardley asked. "I had just sent one of my girls to bring you some tea—"

"No, no, that's very kind, but I must be going," Robert sighed, pulling on his gloves. "I have some special guests arriving today, and I should be going back to make sure everything is prepared."

Special guests? Sybil frowned. What special guests were coming to Downton?

"And you can guarantee the car's safe keeping?"

Mr. Yardley nodded his head. "I can, your Lordship; the garage around the back has a special lock and key that only I possess."

Robert sighed and nodded. "I confess, I'm not comfortable with the idea of leaving a car in the village, however it makes no sense to have him scramble back and forth to the house should we ever need him; and it will be nice to make one telephone call, request that he come, and not have to wait an extra fifteen minutes for him to go around and get the car ready."

"I quite understand, your Lordship," Mr. Yardley bowed his head. "I promise you, no harm will come to your motor."

Sybil's frown deepened. Why in heaven's name was her father leaving one of his cars here? For Pratt? She knew that the chauffeur lived in the village, but…why now? Why leave a car for him to access, now?

"And the room meets with your satisfaction, your Lordship?"

Robert nodded. "Yes, yes, it will do rather nicely, I have no doubt. And thank you again, for understanding our dilemma," he sighed, looking rather embarrassed.

"Of course, your Lordship; Mr. Branson is welcome to stay for as long as it takes."

Sybil was so confused. She still didn't understand the point as to why her father had come to the Grantham Arms, what business he was conducting with the innkeeper, why a car was being left in the village, and…who on earth was this Mr. Branson?

"Well, I'll leave you to it then," her father mumbled, shaking Mr. Yardley's hand, bidding him good day, before leaving the inn without a backwards glance. Only when she heard the door click shut did Sybil sag back against the wall and let out a long, shaky breath.

"Sarah! What are you…?" Mr. Yardley looked at her, puzzled as to why she was still there after ordering her to take the tea tray to his office. "Here, put that down," he took the tray right out of her hands. "And go make sure Mr. Branson has everything he needs; room 20."

She opened her mouth, wanting to ask him who this Mr. Branson was, but he was already walking away from her, and she felt it was probably best not to get on the man's bad side (she doubted Sarah was the sort to question her employer when an order was given) so she turned, searched for the staircase which she remembered Sarah telling her would lead to the guest rooms, climbed the steps quickly, counting the doors that she passed, seeking out the room Mr. Yardley had told her.

_So he's a guest of some sort, this Mr. Branson? But…but how does he know Papa? Or how does Papa know him? Was that the reason Papa was here? But why? And I still don't understand why Papa was asking Mr. Yardley about leaving one of the cars here in the village…_

She found the door to room 20 at the very end of the corridor. Now what? Just…knock and see if there was anything he needed? She supposed that would be something like fresh linens or towels or…perhaps something from the kitchens? Well, she would soon find out. Without any more hesitation, she lifted her hand and gently knocked on the door, waiting for an answer.

Nothing.

Had he heard her? Perhaps her knock was too quiet? She lifted her hand once again and knocked, a little more forcefully.

Still nothing.

Was he there? Perhaps he had already gone back downstairs to the inn's main floor? She had passed a few men on the way, several of them giving her "appreciative" looks, which only caused her to move quicker and further away from their lingering eyes. Perhaps this Mr. Branson was one of them? She didn't like that thought.

"Mr. Branson…?" she called through the door. When she didn't hear a response, she sighed and decided to peek inside, just to be sure. Although there were warning bells going off in her mind, she chose to ignore them and carefully turned the door knob, pushing the door open and calling out to the man whom her boss had directed her to see. "Mr. Branson? I was sent up here to see if there is anything you nee—OH!"

Her hand flew to her mouth…and she stared…at the man who stood at the other end of the room, a towel pressed against his face, his hair slicked back from water, droplets dripping down from his head, onto his shoulders, down his neck, down his back, down his chest…his _naked_ chest.

He wore no shirt. She had just walked on him in the midst of washing his face and from the look of things, pouring water all over his head, hair, and the back of his neck—no wonder he hadn't heard her. And now the towel was covering his face, his large hands using it to naturally dry and wipe away the soapy residue from his head, though it dripped down his body…and Sybil stared at the muscles on display.

He was not the first half-naked man she had seen. During the War, she had seen many men in even further states of undress, some of them whose clothes she had to cut away and remove herself, to tend to their injuries. She had also bathed many of these men, running a sponge along their bodies, quickly putting aside any embarrassing feelings about propriety, and seeing to her work as a nurse.

…So why was this affecting her? Why seeing this particular man, without his shirt…the water and soap dripping down his neck…rolling over his broad shoulders…his muscular chest…his flat stomach…soaking the waistband of his dark trousers…

Her breath caught as he tossed the towel he had been using aside, her eyes widening even further as they drifted back to his face.

_Apollo_.

Good heavens, where had THAT thought come from? But it seemed appropriate; he was…very handsome. He had a strong jaw, a fine nose, there was a soft cleft in his chin, and his hair reminded her of some of the wheat fields she saw around Downton; a light brown in shadow, but when the sun poked through the window as it was just doing behind him, a dark gold color.

How long had she been standing there, gaping at him? He didn't seem to realize he had an audience until he reached for what she could only conclude was his shirt, and turned his body to begin putting it on…when he suddenly looked up, his eyes going wide as they met hers, and Sybil had to bite back the gasp at finally seeing the color of his eyes…a deep blue, with flecks of green.

"What are you doing?"

His voice was rich and warm, a lyrical tenor with a deep Irish brogue. Irish—he was Irish apparently.

"Who are you?" he demanded, and Sybil gasped, suddenly feeling so foolish for her silly behavior, like that of an addle-brained school girl preparing for her first London season.

"I…I…" she was stammering and no doubt her face was on fire, judging from the heat she could feel in her cheeks. Oh Lord, why couldn't a hole suddenly appear to swallow her up? "I…" she actually stomped her foot to get her brain to stop sounding like a broken phonograph. "I…I was told to come up here and…and see if you needed anything," she finally managed to get out, hating herself for how silly and stupid she sounded. Oh God, Sarah would never have done _anything_ like this! She probably wouldn't have even tried to enter the man's room!

"Oh…" he murmured, still standing and looking back at her rather awkwardly. He still held his shirt in his hands, and had yet to make a move of putting it on. "Um…no, no thank you," he answered.

"Right then," Sybil swallowed, forcing her eyes to look at the ground and not at the man's naked chest or handsome face. "Well…" she began to turn then. "Well, I…I'll leave you to it." And without another word, she grabbed the doorknob and pulled it quickly shut.

Oh good God, what had just happened!? _"I'll leave you to it?"_ What did that mean? Could she have sounded any more…any more…?

Oh God, she wanted to die.

Oh no, what would this mean for Sarah!? Would he say something to Mr. Yardley? About how some rude maid burst into his room and…and ogled him? She was no better than those men she had passed on her way up here! No better than that "Billy" from downstairs! She had promised Sarah she wouldn't do anything to jeopardize her name or work here, at the Grantham Arms, and her first day wasn't even finished, and she had probably done enough to be sacked. This was horrible, absolutely—

"Hey!"

Sybil froze, her eyes widening as she realized _he_ was calling out to her. A voice in her head was urging her to ignore him, to keep walking away and pretend that she hadn't heard him, but then she started to hear his footsteps approaching, and so she realized walking away wouldn't be an option as he would no doubt follow her, so with a deep breath, she turned to face him, prepared to face whatever reprimand he had to give, and rightfully so—

"I didn't get your name."

Sybil's eyes went wide, and she looked up at him then, staring in disbelief…and feeling her knees weaken slightly at the rather roguish smile he was wearing. He was also wearing a shirt.

"My…my name?" she murmured. He wanted to know her name? That was why he had called out to her.

His smile only seemed to spread, and he extended his hand to her. "Tom Branson."

Tom Branson. Mr. Branson. _Tom_.

"Sybil…" she answered, moving her hand to shake his, then pulled back suddenly before they touched, realizing what she had just said. "SARAH! I mean Sarah," she corrected.

He looked a little confused, but that smile never seemed to waiver, and he took her hand in his and gave it a gentle, friendly shake. "Pleased to meet you Sybil-Sarah," he gently teased.

_Sybil-Sarah_. She was mentally kicking herself for her slip-up, but at the same time…she couldn't help but smile at his joke. Smile _and_ blush…good heavens, what was the matter with her?

"I'm sorry I didn't hear your knock—"

"Oh no! No, no, you don't need to apologize, _I_ shouldn't have entered!"

"But you have a job to do, and I understand how that can be," he sighed, before smiling at her again. "And I shouldn't keep you from getting on with your job, but…well…" he looked down at her, and Sybil swallowed the strange lump in her throat. She couldn't quite read his look…but she couldn't deny that she rather liked it.

"Sorry," he shook his head, cleared his own throat, and took a step back. "Anyway…like I said, I won't keep you, just…well," he seemed to be stammering now, and Sybil found herself biting her lip to keep from giggling. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you later."

He would? How did he know that? Unless he was assuming she would be coming to his room again, to check and see if she could bring him anything he needed. And once again, she still didn't understand his connection to her father. But he was already moving back towards his room, turning and giving her one final parting smile, before going back inside and shutting the door.

For the second time since arriving at the Grantham Arms, Sybil found herself sagging against a nearby wall, and letting out a long, shaky breath. Gracious, that had been close. Too close. She couldn't make stupid mistakes like that! She was just thankful that whoever Mr. Tom Branson was, he didn't seem like the sort to go and tattle on her to Mr. Yardley. With a resolute sigh, she pushed herself away from the wall and quickly made her way back down the corridor, back to the kitchens to see if she could be of any help there.

Perhaps by thrusting herself into hard work (the very purpose for which she was here), she would be able to forget Mr. Tom Branson's muscular form…or his startling blue eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

_Sorry for the delay! This is the problem when you write too many things :oP Anyway, from here on out, we'll be going back and forth between Downton and the Grantham Arms, to see how the twin sisters are handling things...and the two Toms. It's important to keep in mind (because it might get a bit confusing) that TOM BRANSON is staying at the Grantham Arms, with SYBIL (who is playing "Sarah") and TOM BELLASIS is staying at Downton Abbey, with SARAH (who is playing "Sybil"). Just keep reminding yourself of that as much as possible, and hopefully it won't confuse you too much :oP_

_I'm dedicating this chapter to the lovely **broadwaybaggins** (a *delightful* Sybil/Tom author whose stuff you should totally read!)_

* * *

_Chapter Eleven_

Tom Bellasis was trying to concentrate on what Lady Grantham was saying to him. She was just to his right, and was telling him about her life in America before she came to Britain, and he smiled and nodded and encouraged her to keep speaking, because he honestly had been interested in learning more as he had always wanted to visit the United States…but he was finding it extremely difficult to pay attention…when his eyes kept wanting to glance back across the table, and look at the young woman who sat opposite of him.

Her face was pink; not as pink as it had been a little earlier, but still quite pink. The butler was going around the table, refilling wine glasses as a maid and a footman brought out the fish course and the sauce that would accompany it. He noticed how Lady Sybil's eyes grew wide at the sight of the tray the footman was holding, and how her eyes flew to the plate in front of her…dashing back and forth, it seemed, as if…as if examining her silverware.

He recalled how earlier, when they were having their soup, the Dowager Countess kept trying to clear her throat. She was just a few chairs away, on his left, and when he kept hearing her make the sound, he lifted his eyes with some concern, wondering if perhaps the woman was having difficulty with her breathing. However, he soon noticed that her eyes were fixed on the figure of another person…and he followed her gaze to the young woman whom he had escorted into the dining room, who was delicately sipping her soup. He frowned, wondering why the older woman looked so…displeased. Clearly she was trying to get Lady Sybil's attention without speaking her name, although Tom thought she might as well, as any hope to "discretely" draw Lady Sybil's attention was lost since everyone was lifting their heads and looking concerned or confused.

"Granny?" Lady Edith asked. "Are you alright?"

"Oh for heaven's sake," the Dowager Countess muttered, shooting her middle granddaughter a look of annoyance, before turning her eyes back to Lady Sybil.

Tom also turned his attention back to Lady Sybil…and it suddenly dawned on him why, perhaps, her Ladyship was making such a fuss.

Lady Sybil had been sipping her soup just like the rest of them…but Tom watched as her spoon dipped into her bowl…_towards_ herself, and not away.

Suddenly, memories of his mother's instructions on how to properly eat soup filled his head. _"Now Tom, you mustn't dip your spoon that way; you'll get soup all over your nice suit. Always dip the spoon and move it away…"_ He had been seven years old at that time, and thought it the silliest instruction as it was difficult to keep soup on his spoon when he moved it away rather than towards himself, but his mother insisted this was the "proper" way to eat, and so that was what he learned and how always ate his soup.

Lady Mary, who was sitting just to Lady Sybil's right seemed to make the same realization and he watched as she gently, but firmly, gave her younger sister a nudge to bring to attention to her "soup faux pas".

Tom felt his heart go out to the girl as she looked at her older sister with confusion…and then down at her bowl, then back at her sister and several others around the table, before suddenly realizing what it was that they were referring to.

As for himself, he quickly lowered his eyes and pretended he was completely unaware to what, if any fuss, was being made, not wanting to add to the girl's embarrassment, and that was when he turned to Lady Grantham and smiled and proceeded to ask her about America.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Lady Sybil, and watched as she lowered her spoon, clearly finished with eating her soup, lifting her napkin and trying to dab gently at the corners of her mouth, but the damage had clearly been done, and her cheeks were bright and pink with embarrassment.

His heart squeezed with pity once more, and he wanted to tell her it was alright, nothing to feel embarrassed about, it was just a little soup and quite honestly, he thought the whole thing a bit silly (and even sillier of her grandmother to make such a spectacle out of the situation), but he didn't. Better that he feign obliviousness about the matter than bring any sort of attention to it. Besides, he was just a stranger to the Crawleys, and he most definitely was a stranger to Lady Sybil.

But that being said, he couldn't deny that he was…_curious_, about her, especially now as he watched her fingers run along the forks to the side of her plate, as if trying to decide which one to use, before settling at last to the one on the outside.

He couldn't help but smile at the gesture, but he lowered his eyes again and turned his attentions back to Lady Grantham, not wanting to bring any further attention (or dining room censure) to Lady Sybil for the evening.

She was very pretty, that could not be denied. Although "pretty" didn't seem like the appropriate word. "Striking", perhaps? "Surprising", even? Yes…surprising was very appropriate. She certainly surprised him when she floated into the drawing room, adorned in blue silk and looking like a princess straight from the pages of Arabian Nights! He didn't know what to expect when the Dowager Countess informed him that they were waiting for the youngest Crawley girl to join them before proceeding into the dining room, but it certainly wasn't that! The fact that she was beautiful didn't so much surprise him (both of her sisters were very lovely, as was their mother), but her beauty was different—unique, almost…fey-like.

His mother had told him stories that had been passed down to her from her Irish nanny; stories from her homeland about faeries and leprechauns who wove magic spells and played tricks on mortals. As a boy, visiting Drumgoole in the summers of his childhood, he was determined to find one of the fey-folk, as his mother called them; determined to capture one and ask for a wish. His searches naturally proved fruitless, but he always wondered how he would know if and when he ever came upon such a magical being.

Looking at Lady Sybil, watching her glide into that room, a lovely smile on her face just radiating like the sun as she stood before the entire room, beaming with pride in her strange and enchanting frock…

That was the perfect word. Yes, that was the word to describe Lady Sybil Crawley and his thoughts upon first seeing her: enchanting.

He stared at her, dumbfounded, as she smiled at everyone, and he swore his breath caught in his throat as she turned her eyes to Lord Grantham, who was standing just next to him and who he had been in deep conversation with before she had entered the room.

There was…just something so…pure, about that smile. Something so genuine and emotional and…well, beautiful, really. The way she looked at Lord Grantham, as if…she hadn't seen him in a very long time! He even swore he saw a shimmer in her eyes, as if tears were forming. _So beautiful…_

But then her eyes drifted to him, and if his breath hadn't caught before, it certainly did now as he locked eyes with hers.

Blue; bluer than the very silks she wore.

There was a beautiful glow to her cheek, a healthy, radiant color enhanced by her blush. And his eyes suddenly fell to her lips, full and lush, and his heart seemed to skip a beat as he heard the tiniest intake of breath escape between them.

Lord Grantham was in the midst of introducing him, but he suddenly found himself practically stumbling towards her, interrupting his host and extending his hand towards her, finishing the introduction himself by offering his name and smiling back at her…because it was impossible not to.

Yes, like the fey-folk from his mother's stories, Lady Sybil had indeed enchanted him.

Of course the enchantment her presence had cast quickly disappeared when her grandmother asked him to escort Lady Sybil into the dining room.

Several days ago, his mother had found him in the Grassley library, going through the books that the estate agent had left. She asked him if he was making himself ready for the journey to Downton Abbey, and without looking up, he confirmed that he was. She meandered a bit in the room, before continuing the conversation, saying that she had learned a little bit about the Crawleys, making some sort of mention about how they were connected to his father's friend, Sir Anthony Strallan, and how the future heir to earldom was in fact a middle class solicitor from Manchester, which certainly intrigued Tom and made him smile. She continued going on, about how the Lord and Lady Grantham had three daughters; Lady Mary who had recently married the future heir, Lady Edith who was married to Sir Anthony, and Lady Sybil…who was _not_ married.

At the time, he was too engrossed in his work to really pay much attention to what his mother was telling him, but suddenly, now as the Dowager Countess gave her command for him to escort Lady Sybil in, that conversation came crashing back.

_No…surely that isn't the reason to why I am here? _

Lord Grantham's letter had contained some details as to Downton's current situation, and indeed, the estate's problems did mimic the ones Grassley had suffered for many years. He was more than happy to offer any sort of help he could, and humbled that his father's friend, Sir Anthony Strallan, had recommended him. Although, as soon as his eyes caught sight of the grand estate upon his arrival, he quickly realized that this was going to be a very daunting task. Still, he welcomed the challenge, and put on a smile as he pulled his car up the drive to greet his hosts, who were standing at the entrance, ready to greet him, along with many of their staff.

_No, that's not intimidating at all,_ he joked to himself as he took in the number of faces there to welcome him. Introductions were made, although Lord Grantham did seem momentarily taken aback when he stepped out of his car to shake the man's hand. Tom couldn't deny that it struck him as being rather odd, however his Lordship shook his head and put on a smile (although it looked a little forced) and muttered something about "déjà vu", before informing him that Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary, both of whom had arrived not long before himself, would be joining them for dinner, as well as Mr. Crawley's mother, and his father's friend, Sir Anthony Strallan and his wife, Lady Edith. He was then shown to his room (after the imposing butler managed to get over the shock that he had brought no valet, nor that it would be necessary to provide him with one), where he set about settling himself in and changing from his travel suit to his dinner jacket. He was pleased to see that he wasn't the only man in such attire (he much preferred a dinner jacket to white tie and tails), although he did notice how the Dowager Countess (who had had met shortly upon entering the house) seemed a little…displeased…by his choice of evening wear.

When he entered the drawing room, Sir Anthony was the first to greet him, heartily shaking his hand and saying how good it was to see him again, that he had changed considerably since he was ten years old, which brought a chuckle from around the room. Tom was quickly introduced and acquainted with everyone else…or so he thought. Until he overheard the Dowager Countess mutter something about "What is keeping Sybil?" and Lady Grantham offered a polite apology, before sweeping out of the room to find the missing person.

And now he knew. Now he remembered what his mother had said, about Lord Grantham having three daughters, and the youngest one being unmarried, and the possible _hint_ that she was trying to give him.

Tom knew that one day, he would have to marry. That it was expected of him; after all, he was his parents' only child, as well as the heir to Grassley; his grandparents, if they were still alive, would tell him it was his "duty". The problem was he hated seeing marriage like that: a duty. He was not close to any of his uncles or aunts, and he saw what those marriages were like: unhappy. They had all married because they had a "duty" to perform, but he was well aware that one uncle kept a mistress and had more bastard children with her than legitimate children with his wife who lived in some lonely country estate while he gambled his fortune away in brothels and gaming halls, and another who truly hated his wife so much, that they both lived in separate houses and barely interacted at all. And then there were his friends from university! They married for titles or fortune or both…and yet none of them seemed very happy. Not once, with the exception of his parents, did he encounter any such couple who had married or were married because they loved the other.

No, he was not going to be like his uncles or his friends. Yes, one day he would marry, but it would be on his own terms and to a lady of his choosing because he loved her, and for no other reason. Money and titles mattered very little; in fact they didn't matter at all as far as he was concerned (although he felt it best to presently keep this information to himself). He had danced with different women during the years he attended The Season, escorted several to various balls and such, and had even shared a kiss with a few, but nothing more. They were all very beautiful and charming…

Yet there was no stirring in his heart.

The conversations always felt so flat, and the ladies themselves seemed more concerned about "playing a certain part" in trying to win his affections, than just…being themselves. And there was nothing he disliked more than a woman of intelligence acting silly and pretending she had no opinion of her own, because she believed that was the way to win a proposal.

No, he quickly learned that the London Season with all its courtship games was not for him. He loved the country, preferred the country, and found that he would much rather spend his time improving Grassley and working with and beside the tenants of his father's land, than inside a London ballroom or gentleman's club.

However his mother had warned him that even if he avoided London as much as possible, that wouldn't necessarily stop the "marriage hounds" from trying to sniff him out for their daughters, especially now after so many young men had lost their lives in the War.

…And it seemed that perhaps his mother had been right. Because there was no mistaking that little gleam he saw in the Dowager Countess' eye when she encouraged him (ordered him, really) to offer his arm to Lady Sybil. And while yes, he did indeed find her most beautiful and charming in that first introduction, he could not abide the thought that he had been possibly deceived into coming to Downton Abbey for a purpose other than to help Lord Grantham with the management of the estate.

However…if Lady Sybil was in on the scheme, she was a very good actress. She clearly looked just as surprised by his presence as he was by her entrance. And when he put on a polite smile, not wanting to give away his suspicions, and offered her his arm, his heart skipped a beat at the bashful and…nervous smile, that graced her lovely face.

"I must say, Mr. Bellasis, your arrival couldn't have been more perfectly timed," Mr. Crawley spoke from across the table, bringing his attentions back to the present.

Tom paused in cutting his fish to look up at the other gentleman with curious eyes. "Oh?"

Mr. Crawley nodded. "Yes! I would say it all worked rather perfectly, you coming and managing to visit just when Mary and I were returning to Downton from our honeymoon—I am eager to do what I can in helping Downton, but as a man who up until several years ago was nothing more than a solicitor, my knowledge in estate management is very minimal, and I must confess, I do not think that Mr. Jarvis has a great deal of patience for me," he chuckled.

"Nor I, I would say," Lord Grantham sighed with a bit of embarrassment.

"Yes, it did work out wonderfully, I suppose," Sir Anthony added with a smile. "As if it had all been 'arranged' by some greater force," he turned then to Lady Edith, a somewhat confused expression on his face. "What is that word, my dearest?"

Lady Edith's brow furrowed. "Word?"

He nodded. "Yes, it's a rather strange word, one not used too often, but it explains exactly what I'm trying to say—"

_Kismet_, Tom thought to himself.

"Kismet?"

All eyes turned to the youngest Crawley daughter, who had spoken up for the first time since they had entered the dining room. Everyone looked surprised, but none more than Tom himself. As for Lady Sybil, she was looking around the room at all of them, and suddenly seemed to shrink under their gazes, before quickly turning her attentions back to her meal and trying her hardest to…disappear, it seemed.

Tom's brow furrowed, and he felt a tremendous urge to…reach across the table and take her hand in his and offer a comforting squeeze. Was she always like this? So shy and…unsure? But that didn't seem right, not at all; when she had walked into the drawing room, she was beaming with such confidence that it was positively breathtaking!

What had happened to that young woman? He felt a strange ache in his chest, a longing to see _that_ side of Lady Sybil return.

"I was thinking that very thing, actually," he found himself murmuring before he even realized that the words had slipped past his lips.

She looked up at him through her lashes, her expression still shy and unsure, as if she was wary. Did she think he was making fun? He offered a small smile, hoping she would see that he was being sincere, as well as encouraging. Yes, he very much longed to see that confident woman again.

"Well, I suppose it was 'kismet' the two of you thought the same thing!" Mrs. Crawley, Mr. Crawley's mother, added with a soft laugh, which quickly earned a chuckle from around the table.

Lady Sybil's cheeks flushed and she lowered her eyes once more, but Tom was happy to see a soft smile lifting at the corners of her mouth, which brought a smile back to his own.

Indeed, he couldn't help but feel curious about Lady Sybil Crawley. However he quickly shook his head and resumed his attentions to his meal as the conversation was carried elsewhere, smiling and nodding to whatever his hosts had to say, and trying with great difficulty not to be distracted by the woman across from him.

Even if it were possible that he had not been invited to Downton for the purpose which his invitation had indicated…he would not let that stop him from accomplishing the task which he had come to do. That would be his first and foremost priority to _anything_ else. If matchmaking was on the Dowager Countess' mind, well, she would simply have to be learn to be disappointed. Because despite how "enchanting" Lady Sybil seemed, it just wasn't possible for a man to lose his heart and fall so deeply in love that he would want to propose marriage in the span of two weeks.

…Or so he told himself.

* * *

"So _why_ is he staying here?"

Mrs. Patmore groaned. "For heaven's sake, Daisy, I'm not a fortune teller; I don't know all the details, simply what Mr. Yardley told me!"

The kitchen maid frowned, but more because she was confused than for any other reason. "And he'll be having supper with us every evening?"

"I don't know about every evening," Mrs. Patmore muttered as she removed the pot from the stove to cool. "Wouldn't be surprised if he has some suppers up at the big house."

Daisy smiled at this, a somewhat faraway look glowing in her eyes. "Did you have suppers up there, Mrs. Patmore? When you helped the cook that one time?"

Mrs. Patmore sputtered at the idea. "Good heavens, Daisy, it was the Servant's Hall! From the way you're talking, you'd think I sat with his Lordship in the dining room!"

"Whatcha talkin' about?" piped up another voice. Both Daisy and Mrs. Patmore turned to see Edna's pretty blonde head come around the corner, holding a tray that was littered with dirty dishes.

"Never you mind," the cook dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Are your tasks complete? All the men have been served? Where's Sarah?"

Edna groaned and rolled her eyes. "Out there flirting," she muttered.

Mrs. Patmore frowned at this. "I asked about Sarah, not yourself," she retorted with her own eye roll. "Go and fetch her."

Edna's frown became a scowl. "Me? No! I've been working all day and she just waltzes back here after her afternoon at Downton Abbey, thinking herself so high and mighty—"

"I'll go fetch her," Daisy mumbled, partially because she didn't want to be present for yet another argument between Edna and Mrs. Patmore. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron and went to poke her head beyond the kitchens, to look in the main room of the pub…and was surprised to see Sarah, standing there in the middle of the room…smiling and laughing with all the men!

She wouldn't call it "flirting", just friendliness. In fact, she quickly realized that what Sarah was doing was simply…telling jokes! Quite innocent really; still…it was unusual, seeing Sarah be so…so…

Well…not at all like her usual quiet self.

"That was fantastic!" laughed one of the men, which Sarah grinned and thanked, while topping off his pint glass with her pitcher. "Where did you learn such jokes? I'll have to remember that one."

Sarah blushed and put a finger to her lips. "I can't give away all my sources," she said, trying to look mysterious and secretive, but clearly teasing. This just caused the men to laugh even harder.

She lifted her eyes finally towards Daisy's direction, and the mirth on her face quickly changed. "Well, I'm afraid I must bid you all a goodnight," she announced, to which the men groaned and a few even protested, but in the end they murmured their goodbye as she topped off the last of their glasses, before quickly turning to join Daisy.

"Is everything alright?" Daisy asked, looking at her with curious eyes.

"Of course!" Sarah grinned, looking over her shoulder and giving a little bow of her head, to which the men lifted their pints towards her as if to offer her cheers. She giggled and turned back to Daisy. "They're not so bad, actually; I'll admit I found them intimidating at first, didn't quite know what to make of some of their teasing comments, but in reality I see that they're just like any other gentleman…" her voice trailed off, and Daisy wondered if she was confusing herself with her own words. Why not? Daisy was confused by them.

"Come now," she mumbled, taking Sarah by the wrist. "Mrs. Patmore has finished with supper and we best eat quickly, so we can get to the washing up; you know how long that can take," she groaned, before turning and leading Sarah back to the kitchens.

_Actually, I don't_, "Sarah" _(Sybil)_ thought to herself as she followed the kitchen maid. Still, despite how daunting Daisy had made the task sound, she couldn't help but smile at the thought. So far, her first day and evening at the Grantham Arms hadn't been so bad! Yes there was that close call with her father (she still didn't quite understand why he was there), not to mention that rather embarrassing encounter with...

Her cheeks quickly heated as she once again remembered (she honestly had lost count with how many times), her brief "meeting" with Mr. Tom Branson.

Oh Lord; she honestly didn't know if she was glad or disappointed that she hadn't seen him in the pub that evening.

After her…encounter…Sybil had rushed back to the kitchens, hoping for something to distract herself. She found that distraction in helping serve supper to the inn's patrons. In some ways, it reminded Sybil of when she would help serve meals to the officers at the convalescent home. Indeed, her skills as a nurse had proven to be most helpful in a way she would never have imagined. When one of the patrons made some remark to her (similar to the remarks "ol' Billy" had made earlier that afternoon), instead of clamming up as she had then, she lifted her chin and offered a "cheeky retort", as she had seen her fellow nurses do when dealing with what could only be described as "randy officers".

The retort did the trick, because it caused the men to burst out laughing. And soon, Sybil found herself laughing alongside them, sharing the different jokes she had learned by both nurses and patients, and any tension or unease she had felt earlier seemed to wash away. The room became quite merry, and Sybil couldn't stop smiling. Indeed, this was very different to some of the "stuffier" meals she had been enduring at Downton as of late. Poor Sarah…

"There you are!" Mrs. Patmore sighed, placing a basket of bread on the servant's table, just next to a stewpot. "Come on, grab some bowls and spoons and tuck in!"

Sybil smiled and nodded; even though the woman was very brash, she found that she liked the cook very much.

She looked around the table as she fetched her bowl, taking in the other occupants. There weren't many; a few teenage boys who she gathered served as the equivalent of hall boys for the inn, herself, Daisy, Mrs. Patmore, of course…and Edna.

Sybil's smile faded.

She and the blonde maid had not gotten off on the best foot, and there was no mistake that the woman had been scowling at her when they were both serving in the pub earlier. Even now, as Sybil went to sit down opposite of Edna, it was quite obvious the woman was scowling and even attempting to hide her disdain for her.

_Why? What did I—or Sarah, rather—do?_

"Mrs. Patmore?" Daisy murmured as she sat next to Sybil. "Should we wait?"

Sybil noticed how Edna's brow furrowed at the kitchen maid's words, and then turned to look at the cook in confusion. "Wait? Wait for whom? Is Mr. Yardley joining us?"

"No, not Mr. Yardley," Mrs. Patmore corrected, although she didn't bother to explain Daisy's question, either. Instead, she glanced at the clock on the other side of the kitchen and shook her head. "No, no, I think it best that we eat now, while the food is still hot and the hour not so late. He'll just have to learn to be prompt next time."

"He!?" Edna piped up, her scowl from earlier having washed away completely. She was grinning and sitting up a little straighter. "Who is _'he'?"_

"Just some tardy Irishman who hopes he hasn't been keeping you from enjoying your supper," murmured a man's voice from the kitchens doorway.

Sybil swore her heart came to a stop at the sound of his voice…and his sudden appearance.

There he was again, Mr. Tom Branson…although unlike the last time, he was a bit more…"dressed up", not only wearing a clean shirt, but a brown suit jacket and tie as well.

"Mr. Branson!" Mrs. Patmore exclaimed, and she suddenly rose to her feet, as did Daisy and the hall boys. Sybil quickly followed, not wanting to look like the odd one out (or to give anything about herself away) and couldn't deny that she was rather proud of herself for rising before Edna, who was the last to turn and look and finally manage to stand.

"Oh my," Sybil heard the other woman murmur, before a dazzling smile broke out across her face. Sybil's reaction to this was a deep frown.

"Oh please," he lifted a hand, indicating that he wish for them all to sit down. Sybil's eyes darted to Mrs. Patmore, and watched the cook for direction on what to do next. "Please, don't get up on my account; you make me feel like I'm some noble or a something!"

The boys to Sybil's right began to chuckle, although they quickly stopped at the stern look Mrs. Patmore gave them. However, the cook seemed to nod her head, before sitting herself down, and everyone else followed suit, including Sybil.

"No need to worry, Mr. Branson," Mrs. Patmore explained. "We'd just sat down. Please grab a bowl and join us."

"And sit next to me!" Edna grinned, scooting over on the bench and patting the spot just next to her. Sybil clenched her jaw and tried not to roll her eyes at the rather obvious flirting. She had known several nurses, both in York, and at the village hospital, who seemed far more interested in flirting with their patients than caring for them. Edna reminded her a little of those women.

Mr. Branson smiled and nodded his head in thanks to Edna, before taking the spot she had offered…although his eyes drew to Sybil, and if Sybil wasn't sure if her heart had stopped earlier, she was certain now as his eyes locked with hers. "So we meet again," he grinned, rather roguishly. Sybil felt intense heat flood her face and she quickly looked down at the beef stew in her bowl.

His comment, however, was not lost on Edna. "Again?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked across the table at Sybil. "What do you mean 'again'?"

Sybil's blush only darkened and she quickly glanced back and forth between Mrs. Patmore and Edna, unsure if she should say anything, not wanting to "break" whatever protocol Sarah was supposed to observe, although walking in on a man who was in the midst of changing his clothes was no doubt on the "don't" list.

Mr. Branson however came to her rescue, so to speak, and answered Edna's question for her. "She was very kind as to knock on my door and ask if I needed anything," he explained, his eyes finding hers and crinkling just at the corners as his lips once again spread into a warm, handsome smile.

Oh Lord, how that smile seemed to transfix her.

_Good heavens, what has gotten into you? _

"Oh," Edna responded, her own smile obviously forced as she turned and met Sybil's eyes. "Well, weren't you helpful?"

Mrs. Patmore cleared her throat, gathering everyone's attention at the table. "Mr. Branson is a guest of Lord Grantham's," she started to explain, which earned a healthy gasp from several around the table, including Sybil. He was a guest? But…if he were a guest, why wasn't he staying at Downton?

Mr. Branson chuckled at Mrs. Patmore's words and shook his head in amusement. "I don't know if that's the exact term I would use to describe myself, nor am I certain his Lordship would call me that, but thank you all the same."

Sybil's brow creased with confusion. What did he mean by that exactly?

"Well, you've met Sarah here," Mrs. Patmore began, going around the table and making introductions. "And this is Daisy, and this—"

"I'm Edna," Edna interrupted, grinning and practically pushing herself against him, while flashing him another dazzling smile. "And I'm _very_ pleased to meet you, Mr. Branson."

This time Sybil didn't bother trying to stop her eyes from rolling.

Mr. Branson smiled politely back at Edna…although he did seem to lean away from her as well. "Pleased to meet you," he murmured, before turning and looking at everyone. "All of you…" he emphasized, and Sybil found herself trying to swallow a somewhat nervous lump in her throat as his handsome blue eyes met hers again.

Edna, however, was not to be deterred, and quickly did what she could to commandeer the conversation. "So, Mr. Branson; if you are a guest of Lord Grantham's, why are we the ones blessed to have your company?"

Mrs. Patmore frowned at Edna's question; however for the first time since she had met her, Sybil was grateful for the blonde chambermaid's boldness, because she too was very curious about this.

"Well, I'm not exactly a 'guest' of his Lordship," Mr. Branson politely corrected. "But rather, I'll be a 'guest' here, at the Grantham Arms for a few weeks, until things have been sorted out with my cottage."

Sybil's spoon clattered against her bowl. "Cottage?" she gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Everyone looked surprised by her question, including the man she was staring at.

"That's right," he murmured, looking a little confused himself by her reaction, but still managing to smile. "Apparently there was some sort of…fire, from what I understand; nothing too disastrous, mind you, but…I was told it will take a few weeks to clear things up, so until then, I'll be staying here."

Sybil's mouth fell open as realization slowly began to dawn on her as to who Mr. Branson really was. And if she still needed clarification, Mrs. Patmore provided it.

"I'm surprised you don't know more about this Sarah, since you spent the last two days up at the big house," Mrs. Patmore chided. "Mr. Branson is Lord Grantham's new chauffeur!"


	12. Chapter 12

_LONG TIME, NO UPDATE! Ugh, first I want to apologize for that, but for those of you who follow my other stories, you might be aware as to why I haven't updated in a while. But still, sorry for the wait and THANK YOU for your kindness and patience! BUT HERE IS AN UPDATE! YAY! And yes, there is lots of flirting ;o) _

_**This chapter is dedicated to dorkout! ** Why? Because she's awesome (also because Oct. 4 is her birthday!) But this is dedicated to her, and she herself is an amazing S/T writer, whose sexy stories I *highly* recommend. And once again, THANK YOU TO EVERYONE for their lovely support for this story which started out as a crack fic and has become...well, maybe it's still crack fic, but hopefully you're loving it as much as me! :oP Thank you as always for reading and reviewing! Hope you enjoy! And happy birthday dorkout!_

* * *

_Chapter Twelve_

Sybil was not a stranger to washing up. Before she left for York, she had helped the kitchen maids with some of the washing up, just to have an idea of how to clean one's own plates and bowls and utensils. And while she was at York, she had to scrub various pots and bed pans, which truthfully was a great deal…nastier…than cleaning a stew pot. However, despite her previous experience in washing up, Sybil had never had to scrub and wash and soak so many dishes! And not just the dishes from their own supper—_ALL_ of the dishes, including those used by the pub's patrons.

It was a harrowing experience, to put it plainly.

And would it ever end? Just when she thought they had managed to finish, one of the inn's hall boys would return with a bin filled with even MORE dirty dishes, and Sybil could only stare in sad horror, as she began pondering if she would ever go to sleep that night. Good gracious, was it like this back at Downton? Was this what Mrs. Bird and all the kitchen maids had to deal with? She would never look at washing up the same way again, in fact she was determined that after this one experience, she would talk with her family and insist on finding a way to be less…less…well, less wasteful! I mean really, did they have to have five or seven courses? And did they have to have so many glasses for wine? And so many different forks?

Different forks.

Sarah.

Perhaps for the first time all evening, Sybil's mind wandered to her sister, and she found herself wondering what was happening back at Downton. She knew Sarah was extremely nervous about "her first dinner", and both Sybil and Gwen had gone over multiple times about what glass to sip and what fork to use during the various courses, but still, it was daunting to sit and imagine doing something you have never done before…and with people you're supposed to know but don't. Sybil could certainly relate! Although, thank heaven, Mrs. Patmore and Daisy were very easy to talk to, and while the Grantham Arms cook could be a bit intimidating with her thunderous voice and harsh glares, it didn't take long for Sybil to see what Sarah had described: a good woman who you would be honored to call a friend and have fight in your corner.

Yes, it wasn't so bad, her first evening at the Grantham Arms. Of course that had been what she was thinking _before_ it was time for the all-consuming task of washing up. But setting that aside, she had talked and laughed with "her fellow staff", and had somehow managed to ease into this role that she was pretending to be, much easier than she had ever anticipated!

She only hoped that the same was true for her twin sister. At least the police hadn't swept into the inn, demanding to know where the "real" Lady Sybil was.

"I think that's the last of them, Mrs. Patmore!"

Sybil bit her lip and glanced up through her eyelashes at the Irishman who had just set down yet another heavy-looking bin filled with dirty dishes. Tom Branson, her father's new chauffeur, had insisted on staying and helping, even though Mrs. Patmore had told him over and over that he was a "guest" at the Grantham Arms, and there was no need, he merely put on that handsome (and rather cheeky) smile he had worn during their meal, removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and began to get to work right away.

"Look at those…" Edna had hissed to no one in particular, though Sybil had heard. She swallowed, knowing exactly what Edna was talking about, as her eyes watched the muscles of Mr. Branson's forearms flex as he got to work. Her mind was once again flooded with images of when she had accidently come upon him earlier that afternoon, and he had been dripping with water and missing a shirt. "Strong as tree limbs, those look," Edna whispered, wetting her lips. "Wouldn't mind being caught in them…"

Sybil's already red face seemed to grow hotter as she listened to the other maid talk. Now new images were coming to her mind, images of, as Edna had described, being "caught" in Mr. Branson's powerful arms…and she swore she could feel goose bumps spread across her skin.

If he was aware that he was being "observed", he didn't show it. Mrs. Patmore tried to argue with him once again, but he put on that kind and cheeky grin, murmuring something about how his mother would be horrified if he didn't do his part ("she'd box my ears if she knew I left all of you to clean up this mess!"), and then he got right to work, gathering pots and pans and then taking a bin out into the pub, and returning with mountains upon mountains of dishes alongside the hall boys.

"Sarah?"

Sybil jerked back to reality at the sound of Daisy's voice. She looked over at the kitchen maid who was looking rather confused as to what had her so distracted. She realized then that Daisy was holding a soapy plate for her to rinse, and Sybil muttered an apology, before quickly taking the plate and soaking it in the hot water in front of her, rinsing the last of the soap from it, before moving to put it in the drying rack beside her—

"Here, let me."

"Oh!" Sybil gasped, nearly dropping the plate. Thankfully his hand had already started to take it, otherwise there would be an even bigger mess to clean up (and while Mrs. Patmore had been very sweet to her so far, she did not feel like giving the woman a reason to unleash her fury upon her).

"Sorry!" Mr. Branson quickly apologized, although his face did bear a sheepish looking grin. "Sorry; I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that."

Sybil was blushing furiously, partially out of her embarrassment over what had almost happened, but mainly because the very man whose muscular forearms she had been ogling ever since he had rolled up his sleeves, was suddenly standing next to her, offering to dry the plate she had been holding.

"Oh, no, no, it's…it was my fault, I…I shouldn't have…well, what I mean is I should have…"

Good God in heaven, what was she trying to say? And why did he have to look at her with that…_smile?_

"Sarah!"

Sybil froze and tried her best to suppress the groan that was building up in her throat as she turned her head to the one person she had met whom, no matter how hard she was trying, doubted she would ever get along with.

Edna marched over to where she and Mr. Branson were standing and glared at the ground at Sybil's feet.

"Look at this mess you're making!" she fumed, pointing an accusing finger on the floor. Sybil looked down and bit her lip, feeling her embarrassment rise as she did take notice of the rather large and somewhat soapy puddle that had formed around her feet. "Ugh, now we'll have to clean that up too!"

Sybil swallowed and lifted her eyes to meet Edna's. "I'll take care of it," she answered in an even tone, trying her hardest not to lose her temper, though the blonde chambermaid was making it difficult.

"Bloody right you will," Edna muttered, before moving in and literally butting Sybil aside with her hip.

"Hey!"

Edna flashed her a harsh glare. "Well, go on!" she ordered, as if she were mistress of the kitchens. "Fetch a mop and a bucket and clean this up!"

Sybil had endured commands and reprimands from her teachers and fellow nurses when she had gone to school and worked shifts at the Downton hospital. She was not a stranger to being ordered about, and never once thought that simply because she was the daughter of an earl, that meant she should have "special privileges". At the end of the day, she was a person just like anyone else, regardless of the station she had been born into. And all people deserved respect.

…But respect was the last thing she wanted to give Miss Edna Braithwaite.

Sybil had opened her mouth, prepared to retaliate with something, but was stopped short once again by Mr. Branson, who put down the rag he had been using to dry, and began to step away, announcing he would fetch the mop and bucket, his eyes going directly to Sybil's, and asking (with a kind, and rather sympathetic smile), where he would find it—but before she could answer (and unfortunately she had no idea where the mop was kept)—Edna actually reached out and grabbed hold of one of the Irishman's arms, pulling him back to her side, protesting that he didn't have to do that, that "Sarah" was more than capable of cleaning up after her own messes, but in the process of grabbing and pulling him to her, Mr. Branson was completely taken by surprise…and soon found himself slipping in the very soapy puddle that he had just volunteered to help clean up.

Sybil gasped and leapt forward, holding her hands out to try and catch him and help him regain his balance. However, Edna was doing the same, although her efforts seemed to be pulling the man down rather than helping him back up. And soon the both of them found themselves slipping as well!

Poor Daisy turned to see what was happening, and Edna in a last ditch attempt to keep herself from falling, reached out with her other hand for the kitchen maid…and ended up pulling her down too. All four of them landed in a loud, wet, and inglorious plop on the floor, groaning as various body parts began to throb with pain, depending on where and how they landed. For Sybil, it was her backside and tailbone.

"WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS GOING ON!?" Mrs. Patmore fumed, marching over and looking at the pathetic heap they had created. Sybil bit her lip and swallowed as she met the cook's wrathful glare. The woman was clearly waiting for an explanation.

"It's Sarah's fault!" Edna was quick to accuse. "She made a huge mess! Dripped water everywhere!" Sybil whipped her head to the woman and her eyes widened as she noticed that Edna was practically lying fully on top of poor Mr. Branson, who was groaning in pain at the very bottom of their heap.

Suddenly any thoughts of defending herself vanished, and she quickly scrambled to her feet. "Get off of him!" she ordered, her eyes filled with concern for the new Downton chauffeur. His face was contorted in such pain, and Sybil tried to recall if she had heard something crack when they all fell down.

Edna's eyes widened at her words. "WHAT!?" she gasped.

Sybil didn't have time for these stupid games. "I said GET OFF of him!" she hissed, grabbing Edna unceremoniously by the elbow and practically yanking her away with one tug.

"HEY!" Edna gasped, staring up at Sybil in shock and horror (and anger) as she was tugged off the groaning Irishman. She turned to look at Mrs. Patmore who was still standing there, hands on her hips and glaring at the lot of them. "Did you JUST see what she did—"

"I SEE A BUNCH OF FOOLS, THAT'S WHAT I SEE!" the cook growled, moving around Edna and going to Mr. Branson's other side. Sybil had just managed to help him sit up, telling him to move slowly, asking him where he had landed and what hurt. She wasn't Sarah Crawford anymore, but Nurse Crawley; and she didn't care if she would have to create some elaborate explanation later, or if she bore all the blame for what had happened, all that mattered right now was seeing to Mr. Branson's care.

"Ahhh!" Mr. Branson groaned, sitting up a little more and his hand immediately going to his left shoulder. "The…the brunt of my weight landed here…" he explained, hissing with pain as his fingers touched his shoulder.

Sybil bit her lip, praying it wasn't dislocated. Only once had she reset a bone, and it was the closest she had ever come to fainting. "Can you move it at all?" she gently asked, her own fingers rising tentatively to touch and massage the shoulder in question.

"I…I think so…" he muttered, hissing a little as he tried, especially when Sybil carefully dug her fingertips into the muscle.

"Here now, you're making it worse—!"

"SHUT UP!" both Sybil and Mrs. Patmore (and possibly even Daisy) all but growled at the blonde chambermaid, which thankfully, seemed to do the trick, because her mouth snapped shut and she stared back at the lot of them with a mix of wounded pride and pure outrage.

Mr. Branson gritted his teeth, but he did manage to move his shoulder without any problem, and based on what Sybil could feel beneath her fingers, he hadn't (thank God!) dislocated it, though it would no doubt develop some nasty bruises over the next few days. And she did want to keep it from swelling. Sybil turned to the cook, who was leaning over the pair of them, watching and looking far more concerned than angry at the moment. "Mrs. Patmore, is there a chance we can get some ice to put on his shoulder?" She didn't know how available ice was at the Grantham Arms, especially now as they were approaching summer…

But the cook nodded her head. "Daisy, I think we have some in that ice box in the larder; be a good girl and gather a bit."

Daisy nodded her head and went about her task, passing a sulking Edna on her way. Sybil had helped Mr. Branson up and over to a chair, her hands steadily holding his arm and guiding him…or was his hand, continuing to hold hers? "Um…" Sybil bit her lip and glanced around the room. "It would be best," she began, keeping her voice low. "If you could remove your waistcoat and shirt…"

The Irishman lifted his eyes to her and Sybil felt that heat suddenly return to her cheeks as he once again gave her that cheeky, lopsided grin. "Trying to divest me of my clothes again?"

Her eyes went wide. "What!?" she gasped. "No! No, of course not—"

He was chuckling at her. He was teasing her! Oh the arrogance of men.

"So that's a 'no' then?" he asked, his humor dancing in his eyes while he unbuttoned his waistcoat.

Sybil pursed her lips together, trying very desperately to keep from smiling back. She barely knew Tom Branson, but oh she could see that he could be a most insufferable man. Although…he was different, compared to the other men she had encountered. He certainly was no Larry Grey, thank heaven.

"I may need your help," he sighed, straightening himself and wincing as he attempted to pull his waistcoat off. The pain was obvious on his face, and Sybil didn't even hesitate, she quickly moved around him to help ease the piece of clothing off, and only realized that they had an audience when Edna gave a surprising gasp, followed by an indignant huff.

"MRS. PATMORE!?" she turned to the cook, looking at the woman as if she were expecting her to rain fire and brimstone down on Sybil for helping Mr. Branson out of his waistcoat.

"Oh go and get the mop, Edna," Mrs. Patmore groaned, rolling her eyes and marching over to where Sybil was standing. "Alright, you've done enough my girl," she muttered at Sybil, making a gesture with her thumb to step away from stripping Irishman. "I'll see to the rest."

Sybil's face flushed brightly, but nowhere near as bright as poor Mr. Branson. "I…I um…excuse me?" he asked, stuttering slightly as he rose to his feet and took a small step away from the cook.

"Oh don't flatter yourself, lad," the woman rolled her eyes again. "I'm probably old enough to be your grandmother! But it's far more improper you doing that here, or even going back to your room with her," she gestured to Sybil, "than with me, so come on! We'll get you upstairs, into bed, and put some ice on that bump of yours—Daisy!" The kitchen maid reemerged with the very ice she had been sent to retrieve. Sybil was looking down at the ground, feeling absolutely mortified for the implications Mrs. Patmore had mentioned. She had forgotten all about propriety, of course, because she was thinking like a nurse in that moment.

…Although as she turned her face just slightly to catch the outline of Tom Branson's muscular form, she wondered if she would have been able to be as…_professional_…as she had been in the past.

_Good heavens, what has come over you? Since when have you ever…ever cared or…or thought about…?_

She turned away and kept her eyes locked on the ground as Daisy passed her to hand Mrs. Patmore the ice.

"Alright," Mrs. Patmore growled, turning back and looking at the rest of them. "I expect that mess," she pointed to what remained of the puddle still, "to be cleaned up and spotless by the time I get back, and for the rest of those dishes to be dried and put it away, is that clear!?"

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore," all of them mumbled.

The cook gave a silent nod, before turning Mr. Branson towards the door. Sybil kept her eyes on the ground, although she could feel his gaze fall upon her as he passed. It was tempting to look up and give him a little smile, despite his cheeky comments to her, but she didn't dare. Not with everyone watching right now, certainly. As soon as both he and Mrs. Patmore were gone, Edna wasted no time thrusting the mop into Sybil's hands. "Take care of your mess," she muttered, before marching over to the other side of the kitchen where the hall boys were silently watching, and began to put away the pots and pans that they had been wiping clean.

Sybil's eyes narrowed as she watched the blonde chambermaid pass. It was her fault that this had happened in the first place!

Well…to a point. Sybil was the one responsible for the creation of the puddle, but Edna had made things worse by literally butting her away from Mr. Branson and then of course pulling him down onto the ground! Yes, the man was handsome, that could not be denied, but…was it worth it? To act so silly around a man? And just why did Edna despise Sarah so? Sybil couldn't imagine her sister doing anything so horrendous to earn such anger and detestation. Was it simply because she was _that_ desperate for Tom Branson to notice her and _only_ her?

_Well…she can have him,_ Sybil told herself, pushing a fallen piece of hair out of her eyes. _No man is worth that sort of headache, surely!_ Besides, even though she had only just met him, it was quite clear that the man was frightfully full of himself.

…Alright, once again, he was nothing like Larry Grey, but…but still…

…But still…

…But still what?

She shook her head and went about the task of mopping up "her" mess, trying her best to keep her mind focused on the true reason she was here; a chance to experience life without the shadow of her birth and title hovering over her, to be treated just like a "regular person", and to prove to her family that she truly was capable of taking care of herself, while giving Sarah the opportunity to get to know all of them and settle into what Sybil hoped would be her sister's future home. Yes, that was what she needed to focus and concentrate on, _not_ on handsome, cheeky Irishmen, with dazzling blue-green eyes and muscular forearms—oh, bloody hell!

* * *

Not so far away, the night had been quite different for another Crawley sister.

Sarah groaned as she heard a light tapping on her door (Sybil's door). "W-w-what?" she moaned, trying to sit up and gasping as she sank a little further into the mattress than was expected. Just then the door creaked open, and Sarah looked up and saw the friendly face of Gwen peak inside.

"Sorry to disturb you," she whispered upon catching Sarah's eyes.

Sarah sat up more (or tried to) and shook her head. "No, no, it's alright," she insisted, covering her mouth as she yawned. Good heavens, she had never felt so lethargic! "What…what time…?" she squinted her eyes and tried to spot the nearby mantle clock.

"Half-past eight," Gwen answered.

Sarah gasped, practically bolting upright (or she would have, if the bloody mattress didn't keep pulling her back down. Good heavens, were all posh beds like this?). "Half-past eight!?" she squeaked. _"That_ late!?"

Gwen couldn't help it; she burst out laughing then, and Sarah felt her face flush. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Gwen apologized between giggles. "It's just…well…I'm not used to hearing anyone who looks like a member of the Crawley family call half-past eight, 'late'," she explained.

Yes, Sarah could imagine that was true. She was still blushing, but also smiling herself now. "I can't remember the last time I had the luxury of sleeping in so late," she confessed.

Gwen sighed and shook her head. "Isn't it sad that we think of half-past eight in the morning as a 'lie-in'?"

Sarah found herself nodding her head. "Yes, it does put certain things into perspective…" she mused. Her smile faded then as she imagined her sister right now. Sybil would have had to have been up and on her feet for practically two hours now. How was she faring? She couldn't deny that last night she had been so worried about her sister, and kept wondering if the police would come barging through the doors of Downton Abbey at any second, demanding that the imposter who was posing as Lady Sybil Crawley, hand herself over. But surprisingly…that didn't happen.

Surprising, she was still here. Which meant that surprisingly, Sybil was still at the Grantham Arms—at least for another day.

"Don't misunderstand," Gwen continued speaking as she fully entered the room and walked over to the closet to rehang the frock Sarah had worn the other night, now pressed and clean. "Lady Sybil did rise early too, especially when the house served as a convalescent home; but that wasn't every day. Which is why I wonder if she's in for a rude awakening over at the Grantham Arms."

Sarah could only nod in agreement, and nibbled her lip as she thought of her sister. Oh gracious, poor Sybil—having to endure early mornings with Edna! Perhaps that was why she had fallen asleep so quickly last night? For the first time since…well, since she could remember…she had a room all to herself! And not just any room, but a room with a large bed…_ALL_ to herself!

And it was strange to wake up and discover that she didn't have any specific responsibilities to attend to. No fires to light, no laundry to gather, no food to serve, no beds to make…

It would be a lie to say that there was a part of her that wasn't delighted with the idea of not having to do anything…but at the same time…she was already feeling frightfully…bored.

"Now what?" Sarah found herself asking, attempting to rise from the soft mattress.

Gwen seemed to find this question amusing, because she was giggling again. "Now…well, now I suppose you wash, dress, and then go downstairs for breakfast."

Alright, that made sense. But…after that? "And then?"

Gwen paused and looked up at Sarah, a troubled expression on her face. "I…I honestly don't know," she answered truthfully.

Both women looked at each other…and then burst into laughter, although it was the sort of laughter one would only reserve for a moment when you were absolutely uncertain how else to respond to something. How sad, to live with such uncertainty, Sarah found herself thinking. Yes, it was all very good to imagine not having to rise and perform certain duties for once, but…at the same time, to not have a specific purpose? Perhaps she could understand her sister's desire in wanting to leave this life?

"Well, what would you like to wear this morning?" Gwen asked, smiling as she opened Sybil's closet. "I did bring my sewing kit, in case we need to make any changes," she quickly added.

Sarah's legs were a bit wobbly as she crossed the room to the closet to gaze once again at the many gowns and blouses and skirts that hung on its hangers and were folded on its shelves. "I…I suppose I should wear something simple…nothing like what I wore last night?"

Gwen nodded. "Lady Sybil usually wears a very simple blouse, with a nice simple skirt; partially because she likes to dress herself as much as possible," Gwen confided. "In truth, while I come up here to 'offer her any help', normally she just likes to have me sit and talk while she changes."

Sarah smiled at this, imagining her sister doing just that, insisting that she dress herself, while also insisting that Gwen sit down and take a moment to relax before being forced to go about her day with whatever chores she was supposed to attend to. "It must be nice," she murmured, more to herself, though Gwen did hear. "Having a good friend like that…"

Gwen did smile at Sarah's words, although there was some sadness to it, not for herself, but for the young woman who had spoken. "It is," she agreed. "I...I mean, I'm not _that_ naïve; I know that Lady Sybil is…well, she's a fine lady, the daughter of an earl, and I'm just a servant, but…" she blushed and smiled and looked down at her shoes. "She would hate it, hearing me talk like that," she murmured to herself.

Sarah glanced over at the housemaid and reached out to touch the girl's shoulder. Even though they were both, in essence strangers, just as she and Sybil were strangers, Sarah did feel a kinship with Gwen, just as she felt a strong connection with Sybil. "I've only known her for less than a week, which is much shorter than how long you've known her, but…but Sybil doesn't strike me as the sort of person who would look at someone, regardless of their birth, as 'just that'."

Gwen nodded her head. "You're right, she wouldn't. She never has, really. She's never cared for all that 'nonsense' as she would call it…which is why, I confess, I'm worried for her," she sighed. "She may not care, but that doesn't mean others won't."

Sarah bit her lip and found herself silently nodding her head. Yes, there was a great deal of truth in that. And it brought up other questions, too. While she was, without a doubt, Sybil's twin sister and therefore a Crawley by birth, she had also lived her entire life in a world quite the opposite of her sister's…and when the truth was discovered, how would the world respond? Sybil seemed convinced that it would embrace the both of them, and that her—_their_ family, would accept her with open arms. But would they? Truly? Just because she looked like her sister didn't mean she was anything like her sister! That much was obvious the previous night, when they were all at the dinner table! Oh Lord, Sarah still remembered how frightening that had been, especially receiving the Dowager Countess' "evil eye" for daring to eat her soup in the wrong manner.

Oh yes, she had felt all their eyes watching her, all of them judging her, wondering what was wrong with her…

…Except him.

Sarah's face flooded with color as she recalled the kind, blue eyes of Mr. Tom Bellasis, her father's "special guest", sitting directly across from her at the table last night, and how every so often, when she would lift her head and catch his gaze…he would offer her a kind smile, before lowering his eyes again to his plate, so as not to draw attention to her.

Yes, that had been awfully kind of him, she thought. Very kind and very considerate.

"Who normally comes to breakfast?" Sarah found herself asking, turning her attentions back to the closet where Gwen was standing again, pulling out some blouses and skirts for her to consider.

"His Lordship, of course. And now that they're back, Mr. Crawley will be there, too. I suspect Lady Mary will be taking breakfast in her room, now that she's a married woman."

"And so will Lady Grantham," Sarah added. Mama…

Gwen nodded. "Old Lady Grantham—that's what we sometimes call her Ladyship, the Dowager Countess," Gwen explained, blushing slightly. "She'll not be there, or Mrs. Crawley, for that matter."

"And Sir Anthony Strallan and Lady Edith will be at their home," Sarah added again. "So it will be just…Lord Grantham and Mr. Crawley."

Gwen nodded. "Oh, and Mr. Bellasis, of course!"

Mr. Bellasis. Of course.

"Yes…" Sarah murmured, more to herself. She turned her face away, not wanting Gwen to see her blushing cheek.

"What do you think about these?" Gwen asked, holding up a pink blouse and dark gray skirt for Sarah to see. "Lady Sybil often wears this in the morning."

Sarah looked at the blouse and skirt and gave the housemaid a smile and a nod of her head, before proceeding to change out of her nightgown—or rather, out of Sybil's nightgown.

"Wait…" Sarah paused as she realized something Gwen had said. "What do you mean, 'in the morning'? I understand that she would have to change again for dinner, but…but surely that's it…isn't it?"

Gwen bit her lip in an attempt to keep her laughter from being too loud. "Oh milady…" she giggled. "The things you'll soon learn about being 'one of them'."

* * *

_A few hours earlier..._

Her back ached. Her limbs ached. Her head ached. Everything ached. Not since York, had Sybil slept in a more uncomfortable bed. Not since York, had Sybil been forced to share a room. Although the key difference was that at least in York, Sybil had gotten along very well with her roommate. This was an altogether different experience.

Of course she shared a room with Edna. Good Lord, how did Sarah manage it? After everything had finally been properly cleaned and dried to Mrs. Patmore's approval, Sybil slugged up the stairs to the room Sarah had described to her, only to find Edna snoring loudly (already) in her bed. Yes, the blonde maid had found a way to "sneak upstairs" before the rest of them were finished, not that Sybil tried to put up a fight. It wasn't worth it after everything that they had endured already in the kitchens, and to be quite honest, she was grateful to have the woman leave her and Daisy and the rest of the hall boys in peace. Yet when Sybil attempted to turn on a lamp so she could see what she was doing upon entering the darkened room, Edna practically hissed at her like a cat, warning her to keep the lamp off, before burrowing back under her covers and continuing to sleep.

And if truth be told, Sybil was so exhausted, that she didn't even bother trying to remove her clothes. She unlaced her boots, threw her apron over some piece of nearby furniture, and crawled into the hard, stiff bed, hoping that her exhaustion would give her some much needed sleep.

She wasn't so lucky.

Sleep did come, but not without a restless night of twisting and turning and trying to get comfortable. And when morning did come, it was no less pleasant, as Edna stomped around the room, muttering about how "not all of us can be fine posh lady's maids and sleep the day away". Sybil glared at Edna and opened her mouth to retaliate, but the woman was already out of the room, the door banging in her wake.

Oh if she could just put Edna and O'Brien in a room together…

Yes, she would love to hear Edna eat her words then!

She only had two dresses, according to what Sarah had told her. Two uniforms, and Sybil quickly stripped off the one she had been wearing, to put on the other one…muttering at the tightness around her hips and waist. While she and Sarah shared a very similar figure, it was clear her sister had a little less weight in her middle, and she would have to find some time later to let the dresses out so she could breathe comfortably.

Either that, or tighten her corset.

She shuddered in horror at the thought.

After changing clothes, she splashed some cold water on her face from the basin she and Edna shared, and ran a comb through her hair, wincing as she worked her way through the tangles, before finally twisting her hair into a bun, and pinning it up, along with her maid's cap.

There. The transformation was complete. At least from the outside.

"Sarah!" Mrs. Patmore gasped, staring at her as she entered the kitchens. Sybil froze, wondering if she had forgotten to put something on. She quickly looked down at herself to inspect her appearance, but when she saw nothing amiss, she lifted her eyes to the cook, who was still frowning at her.

"It's almost seven, girl! You're late!"

Seven. Seven in the morning was late?

"Sorry, Mrs. Patmore," she mumbled, lowering her eyes and moving to the table where Edna sat, sipping her tea and looking rather smug.

"Oh never mind," the cook muttered. "You were up very late last night, attending to a mess…" she glared at Edna then, who looked hurt by the silent accusation the cook was sending her way.

"It's not my fault that Sarah made that mess!" she answered indignantly.

_Perhaps not, but it's your fault that it was made worse!_ Sybil wanted to shout back. And it was completely Edna's fault that Mr. Branson had injured his—

MR. BRANSON!

Sybil's eyes flew around the kitchen, looking to see if the Irishman was amongst them as he had been last night. But no, he was nowhere to be seen.

"He's already been up and had his breakfast," Mrs. Patmore muttered, not even looking up but sensing Sybil's question.

Sybil blushed then, feeling her cheeks heat at the rather obvious concern she was displaying. _That's only because you think of him as a patient, _her mind tried to reassure. _No other reason._

Daisy came over to the table where Sybil sat and placed a bowl of porridge in front of her, a little knowing smile on her face. "He's doing much better," she assured with a little wink. Once again, Sybil's face heated, although she did smile back at Daisy's assurance. Edna just scowled at her from across the table.

"Right, best be getting out there and start serving the 'early risers'," Mrs. Patmore announced, looking over at Sybil's table companion. Edna made a face, but the stern look she received from Mrs. Patmore kept the chambermaid's mouth shut. So with a groan, she pushed herself away from the table and left the kitchen, taking a hot pot of coffee with her.

"Sarah, as soon as you finish your breakfast, I need you to go to the market and fetch the items on this list," Mrs. Patmore instructed, dropping a piece of paper onto Sybil's lap. It was a simple list of fruits and vegetables, all items she was familiar with, so thankfully she wouldn't look like a complete idiot when ordering the items.

She finished her porridge and tea quickly, and then took a large basket which Daisy had set aside for her. She was still yawning as she left the inn, her body still aching after her restless night, but it was nice being outdoors and feeling the warm spring sun hit her face.

"Good morning, Sybil-Sarah."

Sybil practically stumbled and may have had a nasty tumble, if she hadn't felt his hands suddenly reach out and grab her shoulders, pulling her back and righting her up.

"Careful! Don't want to be like me and have a nasty tumble!" Mr. Branson chuckled, his hands lingering perhaps a touch longer than they should on her shoulders, before finally releasing her.

Sybil swallowed and looked up at him through her lashes. "Mr. Branson, you…you startled me."

"Sorry about that," he apologized, sounding quite sincere, though a smile continued to linger on his lips. "And please, it's Tom…"

Tom. Tom Branson. Tom Branson from Ireland. Tom Branson who was now an employee at Downton Abbey, who worked for her father, the Earl of Grantham, who would drive his cars and serve as chauffeur to the Crawley family, and who would be living in that very cottage where she and Sarah had been meeting in secret, had they not nearly burned the place down.

Tom…whose crooked grin seemed to have some sort of strange effect on her stomach.

"I want thank you, by the way," his voice interrupted her thoughts, which was just as well, because her eyes were lingering perhaps a bit longer than they should on that patch of skin just exposed at the collar of his shirt.

"Thank me?" she practically squeaked, inwardly rolling her eyes at how silly she was sounding.

He nodded, grinning as he stuffed his hands into his pockets (a very casual gesture, one that Pratt or any other servant back and Downton would ever do in her presence!) "My shoulder," he explained. "The ice that you recommended; it helped a great deal."

"Oh! Oh, well…I'm glad," she murmured, blushing and smiling, although in truth, she was glad. "Daisy did say that you were doing better."

He nodded his head, his smile not so crooked now, but there was definitely a warmth in his eyes, that seemed to radiate further at the corners of his mouth. "I was lucky to have a good nurse there to look after me."

Sybil's stomach did a strange sort of flip flop at his statement, but she tried to hide her surprise with what she hoped looked like a genuine smile. "Yes, well…I um…I volunteered, you see…during the War, as an…an auxiliary nurse."

"Really?" he asked, genuine curiosity on his face. "Wow, no wonder! I mean, you seemed so…so 'in control' last night, the way you commanded everything…" his smile never seemed to lessen and the warmth Sybil was feeling in her belly just seemed to spread further and further.

"Yes, well, if I had 'proper control' of everything, you wouldn't have been injured in the first place," she mumbled, thinking about Edna's silliness…as well as her own, to a point. No, she couldn't blame Edna entirely, though it was tempting. But the truth of the matter was, if she had been paying proper attention to her task of washing up, rather than allowing her imagination to wander every time she caught a glimpse of Tom Branson's forearms, maybe that puddle wouldn't have formed in the first place?

"I'm learning all sorts of things about you," he murmured, drawing her attention back.

Sybil's eyes widened and her face grew hot. "W-w-what?" she stuttered, her stomach shivering again.

"Well, I just learned that you worked as a nurse during the War…and then last night I learned that you've served at Downton Abbey."

_Oh Lord._ "Not…not really," she said with a shake of her head. "I mean, I was only there for…for a few days, stepping in when one of the housemaids took ill," she tried to calmly explain, her mind rushing as it went over the elaborate lie she and Sarah had concocted for her "mysterious trips" over the past few days.

Yet if Mr. Branson had found her explanation odd in any way, he didn't show it. "That's still more than me," he chuckled. "Maybe you can provide me with 'important insider information'," he teased. "Like, 'how do I stay on the butler and housekeeper's good side', or 'who should I avoid—'"

"Carson likes order and is very traditional, but Mrs. Hughes, while firm, is very kind and appreciates genuine honesty…and O'Brien, Lady Grantham's lady's maid, is probably someone whose bad side—any side, really, you want to avoid."

Tom blinked at her for a minute, clearly not expecting her to take his jest seriously, but she simply stood there, grinning rather proudly at herself for being able to catch him somewhat "unawares". And why not? He certainly had that ability with her.

"Wow…" he murmured, his smile growing as he gazed at her. "See? This is what I mean; I'm learning all sorts of things about you, Sybil-Sarah."

Sybil blushed and looked down at the ground. "It's…Sarah," she murmured, feeling it was important to remind him who she was…or rather, who she was pretending to be. _And keep that in mind because this isn't your life you're playing with, but the life of your sister and her good reputation!_

He was gazing at her, and even though Sybil was keeping her eyes locked on the ground, she could feel the heat of his eyes on her, and it was doing much more than causing her stomach to flip and flop, but it also seemed to be having a strange effect over her chest, as well.

"I…I should go," she mumbled, taking a reluctant step back.

"Of course," he murmured, straightening himself. "My apologies, I don't want you to get into any trouble by keeping you from your work…" he glanced over his shoulder then at the small garage that belonged to the inn. "Perhaps I can drive you?"

Sybil's eyes widened at his offer. "Oh! Oh…no, no, thank you, but no, I…I'm only going to the market, which is just a few streets away…a short walk, I assure you," she explained. She knew this as it was something she had passed often on her way to the hospital during the War. "Besides, I don't want to keep you from your work either."

He sighed and nodded his head. "Aye, I'm expected up at the big house at half-past nine," he sighed. "But experience has taught me that when they say half-past nine, they really mean they won't see you until half-past ten…but they really want you there at half-past eight, just in case."

She looked at him and gasped slightly at the little wink he gave her, which was followed by a delicious sounding chuckle. Her face grew hot once more, but Sybil found herself giggling as well. "Well…I'll keep that in mind if I am ever asked to arrive at an appointment at half-past nine," she murmured.

"Do, do," he chuckled. "Ah, not that I mind too much; it will give me a chance to see his Lordship's garage, and familiarize myself with some of the other cars. Not to mention I still haven't received my livery—have to look the part, after all."

Sybil knew what the chauffeur's livery at Downton looked like…her mind was already imagining Tom Branson in the rich, dark green jacket…and how…_snug_, it would look, on his broad shoulders…

"Well…I…I better not keep you," she stammered slightly, giving him a quick smile, before turning and starting to once again make her way towards the high street where the market lay.

"Thanks again for the advice about Downton!" he called back to her retreating figure. "I'll be sure to give you a full report later!"

She found herself laughing at this, and looked over her shoulder, blushing furiously at the crooked smile he gave her, before he himself turned his back and retreated back to the inn garage. She smiled and then gave a resolute sigh, before once again embarking on her journey to the market.

It was only when she had rounded the corner that she realized a grave flaw in her and Sarah's plan.

Tom Branson was the new Downton chauffeur.

Which meant there was a very real possibility that Tom Branson would meet "Lady Sybil Crawley"…and recognize the uncanny resemblance she had with the chambermaid "Sarah Crawford" back at the Grantham Arms.


End file.
